


The Kind You Save

by queenbaskerville



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Power, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Identity Issues, Memory Loss, Physical Abuse, Thoughts of Suicide, Tony Flirts With Everything That Moves, Waterboarding, a recovery fic, electroshock therapy, relatively graphic torture, self hatred, the ships are mostly background, thoughts of self harm, water boarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe, Cap," Barton said quietly, looking thoughtful, "maybe you won't be able to find him. If he doesn't want to be found he won't be. After he finds himself, he'll find you. You'll never be able to find him if he doesn't want to be found."</p><p>A thick silence settled over their dim, musty hotel room. Barton looked like he regretted opening his mouth. Steve brooded. Sam turned the statement over in his mind.</p><p>"That was waxing on poetic," he commented just to break the tension.</p><p>-</p><p>Or, Steve wants to help the Winter Soldier and the team wants to help Steve. Recovery fic. WIP</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Team Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's about time we got the band back together," Natasha remarked.
> 
> -
> 
> The Avengers catch up.

 

**tony stark**

Tony Stark tapped his fingers on his knees, feeling irritable and a bit nervous.

Who could blame him, really? Natasha fucking Romanoff was sitting next to him on his private jet, sharpening her knives and staring blankly into space. The sound of the blade on the whetstone set Tony's teeth on edge, but there was no chance in hell he was gonna tell her that. If she was paying attention she'd already noticed and just didn't care. If she wasn't paying attention he wasn't going to mention it.

In the week after three helicarriers crashed in the fucking Potomac and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dirty secrets were spilled on the internet for the world to see, Tony had busied himself with flying his ass from New York where he was visiting Bruce to Washington, D.C. Pepper texted him saying that she'd hired Maria Hill; Tony texted her back asking her to hire as many exceptional, not-Hydra ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (it wasn't their fault their whole lives' work, what they'd given everything to be a part of, had been ruined by Hydra) as she could while he got in contact with Natasha to figure out what the fuck was going on. He asked her to send Hill back to D.C. to start working on information control- some of the stuff that had been leaked was  _not_  S.H.I.E.L.D.'s to share, and some of it put people in danger.

Tony himself focused on the comatose Captain, the clipped Falcon (whose exo-7 wings he would  _definitely_  be working on because Sam Wilson was a pretty cool guy), and the angry Widow.

The Widow was angry, it turned out, because the government was on her ass, Nick Fury was dead, and she didn't have Clint Barton to rant to. Tony wasn't sure how he felt about Natashalie Rushmanoff, but he had to admit she was brave. She managed to lie her way past J.A.R.V.I.S. and even Loki, the Hulk had chased her and she still fought along side him, she'd risked the government backlash from her earlier days being exposed in order to bring down S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra. So of course Tony helped her get good lawyers. Of course he told her about her personalized floor in his Tower. Of course he had J.A.R.V.I.S. start looking for Clint Barton when he didn't answer any of Natasha's calls.

In the end, even J.A.R.V.I.S. couldn't find him. Barton called them himself from an unknown number, and Natasha was almost in tears when she answered the phone. Her voice was completely steady, but her eyes were red, and she certainly hadn't been doing drugs. She had a brief conversation with Barton in some sort of Slavic language (Tony caught "Fury" and "S.H.I.E.L.D." and "Stark"), then hung up and gave Tony a summary. Barton was on a mission, and when he called S.H.I.E.L.D. to let them know he'd eliminated the target they didn't pick up. He was told for that mission to check in before trying to leave, so he stayed where he was for two days, and they still didn't pick up. Then he slipped up looking for food and got caught by the target's organization he'd infiltrated. They roughed him up a bit. They were so upset he'd lied to them and killed their boss that they decided to fly him out on a helicopter with some other prisoners of theirs and drop them in the ocean. Barton took over the helicopter mid flight but the control panel got fucked up and they crashed on an island. Barton was the only survivor.

"Well," she smiled grimly, "looks like that didn't work out so well for them, did it?"

Tony completely ignored how scary that smile was and announced that he'd be flying with her to get Barton when J.A.R.V.I.S. had pinpointed his location. A mistake, he decided halfway into the flight, because Natasha was worried and pissed off and still sharpening her goddamn knives. How many did she have on her?! She was wearing a pencil skirt, heels, and a nice blouse, where the fuck were those things coming from?! Not the briefcase, surely. She hadn't opened it.

There was no way Tony was going to get any sleep.

They landed on the island smoothly, considering that there wasn't a runway or anything; bless the pilot. The sound of the engines must've woken half of the wild animals. Natasha was the first off the plane, not saying a word to anyone. She got maybe about ten feet before stopping, placing her briefcase on the ground, putting her hands on her hips, and yelling, "Clint! Get out of that tree, you're going to fall and break your neck!"

Not a second passed before there was a hoarse shout of, "No, I'm not!" Then something large dropped out of a large tree to the left and crashed down through branches and colorful flora.

"I told you!" Natasha yelled back.

Tony rushed over quickly, but Barton stood up before he could make it past Natasha. Tony got a better look at him as he approached, and fuck, he didn't look good. He heard Natasha's sharp intake of breath beside him.

Most of Barton was covered in blistering sunburn, and his clothes (a white muscle shirt, black cargo pants, black boots, and a baggy purple jacket) were torn and dirty. There was a bloodstain on his left side, several cuts on his face, and his nose looked broken. It was obvious he hadn't showered or shaved in a while. The bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept much, either.

"Clint," Natasha breathed as soon as he was close enough to hear, and he grabbed her and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. She squeezed back, a rare display of public affection. She didn't care that he was covered in grime and he didn't care that he was dirtying her clothes; neither cared that Tony was there and the jet was waiting for them. Tony felt like he was intruding on something private.

Then Natasha pulled back and the two of them were all business. There was not a single sign on either of their faces that any emotion had been displayed a second previously. Fucking spies.

"I'm guessing no one saw the flares I sent up," Barton said jokingly. He sounded exhausted.

Tony decided it was his turn to speak. "I've got food and drinks on the jet, if you're planning on leaving any time soon."

Barton perked up. "Got any coffee?"

"Absolutely."

"Bless you, Stark. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a cup of coffee? Too damn long."

"Honestly, I was hoping that you'd just show up after the S.H.I.E.L.D. fiasco fifteen minutes late with Starbucks and maybe some birdseed and we could all just chill. Not this." Tony gestured vaguely to the island. "You people are weird."

Barton flipped him off (flipped the  _bird_ ) and muttered something about Starbucks' coffee. Tony couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

They were all seated in the flying private jet a half hour later, Tony and Natasha with scotch and Barton with coffee. Natasha's knives were out of sight. Tony didn't ask where they went. He barely minded that Barton's filth meant he'd need to have his seats cleaned after they touched down in DC. Natasha cleaned Barton's wounds and sewed up his side with stuff she'd brought in that briefcase, totally grossing Tony out. Barton got through it by gritting his teeth and hissing out a list of the animals he killed and ate while on the island.

"Hey, isn't that cannibalism?" Tony teased when Barton got to bird species.

"Fuck off."

After one panic attack from Barton (he was much more upset about S.H.I.E.L.D. than he'd initially let on) and two more glasses of scotch for Natasha, Barton decided to take a nap. Tony thought that was a beautiful idea and joined him. He couldn't say if Natasha slept at all, but if she did she woke first. She was alert and awake when they landed.

"Where're we going?" Barton asked after stretching and yawning.

"A hospital."

"Aww,  _Tasha_ ," Barton groaned, but she interrupted his complaint.

"Not for you. Captain Rogers is there."

"What? Why?"

"I think it's best if he explains," she said grimly.

"He's awake?"

"Got the call while you two were sleeping."

"Hey, what if I make sure the room is completely debugged and then get all of the team there?" Tony suggested. "That way we all get an explanation at the same time."

"That'll give me time to shower and eat something that's not badly burnt flesh." Barton muttered after nodding.

"It's about time we got the band back together," Natasha remarked.

* * *

 

**clint barton**

Showers were beautiful. Natasha, too, was beautiful. Coffee was beautiful. Other beautiful things included clean clothes, large veggie pizzas, and shaving. Clint was in as good of a mood as he could possibly be in with Fury dead and S.H.I.E.L.D. gone for whatever reason. Natasha had given him a pale lavender v-neck shirt, blue jeans, and old sneakers. She even had new underwear for him. Bless her.

Her little hotel room was cozy, if a bit bland. The drapes were a shimmery white color, the bed sheets were white, the comforters were brown. Someone had turned the AC on, which Clint appreciated.

Natasha leaned against the doorway of the bathroom where Clint was pulling the razor across his face. She didn't let her eyes leave him, and Clint could tell she was checking for wounds. "I'm fine, Natasha," he assured.

"My phone was destroyed," she blurted. "I saved the back up phone, though. Did you focus on the old number?"

"Yeah, I did." Clint finished shaving and started to wash up.

"I'm sorry."

"I know." He turned to face her. "I forgive you."

Neither of them said anything while he put his things away and then rubbed his newly-shaved chin. "The whole time I was stranded, the whole time I couldn't get in touch with anybody, I kept thinking- I thought-" he couldn't get the words out. "I was worried about you," he tried lamely.

"I know." The corners of Natasha's mouth twitched up. "I forgive you."

Clint huffed out a laugh. He stared at the mirror with hollow eyes and barely noticed that his grip on the sink counter was tight enough to make his knuckles white. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when Fury-"

Nick Fury was everything to Nat. Clint may have brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D., but Fury was the one who'd believed in her and helped her in a way Clint never could. He helped unravel the programming the Red Room had instilled in her since she was a little girl, and he helped give her a purpose. And he gave her Clint himself as a partner. Fury and Natasha were close, and Clint didn't really understand it, but he knew Natasha must have been crushed by his death. She had been his favorite agent, second only to maybe Hill.

And Clint hadn't been there for her.

"That's not your fault, Clint. And-" Natasha bit her lip. "It doesn't matter anyway. Nick faked his death."

"What?" Why hadn't she said that over the phone?

"He's laying low for a little while. The fewer people who know the better."

"Who else knows?"

"Steve Rogers. Sam Wilson, ex-USAF pararescueman, codename Falcon. Maria Hill."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Clint allowed himself to pretend that S.H.I.E.L.D. was still waiting for him and he wasn't sunburned and tired. He had to come back to reality, though. Natasha was waiting for him.

He popped his fingers. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s gone, so what the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"Go visit Rogers," Nat said. "Hash things out with the rest of the Avengers. Start working on damage control."

The car ride to the hospital was short. Clint noticed the staff who weren't staff, and any spy with a lick of sense would probably notice, too. Stark was keeping security tight and didn't care who knew about it. A sort of Stark-esque threat to the world, a "Come on, try to get in here. I dare you. You know what we'll do to you when you're caught" kind of thing, Clint supposed.

He hated the smell of medicine and disinfectant and all the tears pouring out of the relatives of the dying. Clint did everything he could to avoid hospitals. He just didn't like them. The white walls and blue nurse smock-things were hard on his eyes, and machinery and life support stuff could beep at a frequency that sounded weird coming through his hearing aides.

Natasha opened Captain America's hospital room door, revealing Stark, Banner, and a man Clint didn't recognize already with the Captain, the room looking a bit crowded.

"Is Thor coming?" Natasha asked.

"Thor?" The stranger perked up, much to Rogers' amusement.

"I'll introduce you," he promised in a tired, hoarse voice.

"Thor should get here in," Stark glanced at his watch, "five minutes."

"No offense, Cap, but you look like shit." Clint leaned against a wall. Natasha took a seat in a plastic chair next to him.

Steve Rogers really didn't look too hot. His lip was bloody (must've just closed up from being split), he had a fading black eye and various healing cuts and bruises on his face, and he was in a hospital gown under hospital sheets with an IV hooked up to him.

"I feel like shit, so none taken. And you don't look all that great yourself." Rogers nodded in his direction. "Clint Barton, right?"

"Yes, sir." He gave a sloppy salute. He didn't feel too bad about it, considering that Rogers wasn't exactly in the military anymore.

"How are you feeling?" Banner asked quietly. He was eyeing the hospital machinery with the eyes of someone who knew medicine, but wasn't as familiar with tech. Clint knew he'd been doing some doctor things in Asia and South America for a while.

There was something sad about the way Rogers bit his lip and gazed past them all like they weren't even there. "Restless."

The stranger and Natasha exchanged a grim look.

No one had yet to even start on the topic of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The god of thunder burst into the room dramatically with a bouquet of multicolored flowers, a grin brighter than the sun, and surprisingly normal clothing. He was just as good looking in Earthling clothes then as he had been in New Mexico when Clint first saw him breaking into a S.H.I.E.L.D. area. His long blond hair was down and there were a few braids scattered in there.

"Captain!" His smile widened. "You are awake!"

Rogers smiled slightly. "Hey, Thor."

Thor's eyes swept over the room. "Lady Romanoff! Man of Iron! Dr. Banner! Friend Barton! You are all here!" He paused when he saw the stranger at Rogers' bedside. "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced!"

The stranger sat with an awestruck face for a moment before recovering and standing up. "Sam Wilson, nice to meet you."

Thor shook Wilson's hand happily. "It is nice to meet you as well, Son of Wil."

"Son of Wil, huh?" Wilson grinned. "Let me take those flowers for you, there's a vase over here." He put the flowers in a pretty glass vase and positioned it so it was in Rogers' line of sight. Then he turned to face Clint. "So, we've got Captain America, the Hulk, Iron Man, Black Widow, and Thor in here, plus you, Clint Barton. Who are you?"

"Hawkeye. You're Falcon, right?"

"Yup."

"Bird buddies!" Stark dubbed them immediately. He made a squawking noise.

"Did you fly here?" Banner asked, ignoring Clint, who was smacking Stark on the back of the head, and Wilson, who was trying not to laugh.

"No, Dr. Banner, I had the honor of being driven by Jane in her car." Thor practically glowed. He really did love that girlfriend of hers. Jane Foster, her name was. "She is taking Lady Lewis to see the Museum of Smithsonian Science."

"So," Clint clapped his hands together briskly. "Let's get started. Are there enough chairs?"

There weren't, so Thor and a nice nurse brought in some extra ones. They ended up sitting in a circle around Rogers'. Wilson sat on Cap's right at the head of the bed. Then there was Thor, then Banner, then Stark, then Clint, and finally Natasha on the other side of Rogers' head. Wilson and Cap were so close they were almost holding hands, Stark had angled himself near Banner, and Natasha had her feet propped up on Clint's lap. He stroked her leg absentmindedly. No one could see, so she didn't seem to mind.

They talked for hours, because, yes, a lot of what had happened after they split up was on the news, but not all of it, and Thor didn't know much anyway since he'd been elsewhere, and it wasn't like they had anything better to do.

They started with Stark, who told them about Happy Hogan getting injured, some asshole ten year old named Harvey, the impostor Mandarin, Stark's cliff house (MANSION) in Malibu being destroyed, his fight against Aldrich Killian, Colonel Rhodes saving the President, Maya Hansen's switch to the bad side then good side then death, Pepper Potts being subjected to that weird explodey thing called Extremis, and Stark blowing up all his suits (except for Iron Patriot, obviously, though that suit wasn't really "his" anymore). Dr. Banner shared an exasperated look with Clint at the dumb parts- like, for example, Tony giving his home address out as a challenge to the Mandarin on live television. When Banner spoke up it was to modestly describe the surgery he and a bunch of professional doctors did to get the shrapnel and Arc Reactor out of Tony's chest. Tony gave them a summary of how they were trying to help Potts learn to better control her new powers.

During that disaster, Clint and Natasha had been on a mission in Cambodia, Rogers had been in Iowa on a road trip across America ("I got to see a good bit of many of the States during my tours as a performer, but I wanted to get to know the country again. It's different, of course. After New York, I had nothing to do. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't too eager to give me any missions, and all my friends are dead. Well, not all of them. But I needed to get myself together before even trying to go visit them." Rogers explained with a bitter smile), Bruce had been in Stark Tower doing something science-y and trying to keep himself from calling his girlfriend Betty (it didn't work; they were back together and she visited him as often as she could), and Thor had been traveling the Nine Realms.

Thor elaborated on that with the next story, the one that explained the alien ship in London. There was this Dark Elf named Malekith (very unlike Buddy the Elf) who wanted vengeance on the Asgardians for killing most of his race a long time ago, and he was gonna get it by returning the universe to a state of darkness. Or something. Clint didn't really get it. Anyway, Dr. Foster got infected with this powerful Aether stuff that was killing her, Thor took her to Asgard, the Dark Elves attacked Asgard looking for her and Queen Frigga (Thor's mom) died, Thor took Loki out of prison (Clint had choked on the coffee he'd gotten a while previously and demanded an explanation, Thor had promptly and angrily given him one), and Loki and Thor tricked Malekith into taking the Aether out of Dr. Foster. This was where things got awkward for Clint, because Thor got tears in his eyes and told them, in detail, what happened next. The relief that flooded Clint when he heard him utter the words "Loki died" was quickly smothered by shame. And he knew it was all over his face, because Thor couldn't look him in the eyes and Natasha couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Clint. He didn't mean it at all. Fuck, how awful he must've sounded to Thor. But to Thor's credit, he didn't get angry. He just finished his story; talking about science, some alignment of realms called the Convergence, the battle in Greenwich/London/wherever, and Malekith's ship crashing on Svartalfheim.

"I myself made certain Malekith no longer breathed." Thor assured with clenched fists. "I looked for Loki's body, too, so I might return it to Asgard for a proper funeral, but I could not find him. I looked and looked and he was not there. I searched the wreckage as thoroughly as I could, thinking perhaps his body had been on the ground where the ship went down. Perhaps it had been. If it was, there was nothing of him left. I could not find him." He concluded with Odin offering him the throne, him rejecting it, and then him returning to Jane Foster.

Stark said that he and Potts, after seeing the attack on the news, had a long talk and decided that he should build two suits for them so they'd be able to help the team if something bad ever happened like that again. Stark had already finished his, and he'd start making Potts' as soon as she picked a color scheme. Clint had been on a mission in Bosnia. Natasha had been on a mission with Rogers, and that made Clint happy.

A few months ago Clint had learned that she and Rogers were getting paired up together for missions more frequently, and his first thought had been that maybe she'd make a new friend. She'd had a lot of respect for the Captain after the alien shit in New York, and that was pretty much Nat's one requirement for friendship other than trust. Clint wished Natasha had more friends. She, Maria Hill, and Pepper Potts were fond of each other and went out for drinks or had Ladies' Nights when they could all get together, but it didn't seem often enough. Clint was glad Nat had Melinda May, and though he and Bobbi had a rocky relationship, he was pleased that she talked to Nat sometimes. Clint and Nat had their relationship, complex and wonderful as it was, of course, and Nat worshiped the ground Director Fury walked on, but that was it. Clint didn't know Captain America so well but he figured that the guy who crashed a plane into icy waters to save millions of lives couldn't be all that bad. He had been an okay guy during the alien shit in New York.

He was about to learn that they were, in fact, friendly. Rogers started the final story, and Clint tensed a bit when he realized he was finally going to learn why S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone.

The story started with Cap, Nat, and S.T.R.I.K.E. Team One beating up Batroc and his merry men. Rogers confronted Fury about secret keeping (literally no surprise there: Cap wasn't cut out to be a spy; he was in the wrong business), Fury showed him the Project Insight heilcarriers, Fury turned up in his apartment later injured with a flash drive and the message that S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised (how could S.H.I.E.L.D. be compromised? "S.H.I.E.L.D." and "compromised" weren't allowed to be in the same statement unless there were other words that denied it), Fury getting shot and "killed" (Nat interjected with this detail, lying to Banner, Stark, and Thor for whatever reason) by a mysterious assassin; the Winter Soldier.

"Who's the Winter Soldier?" Banner and Tony asked in unison. When Banner glanced at him with the appropriate amount of surprise for a situation where one says something at the same time as someone else, Tony blew him a kiss. Banner rolled his eyes.

Clint had mixed feelings on the Winter Soldier. On the one hand that fucker shot  _through_  Natasha to get to a target (she'd told him afterwards once she was conscious and able to put together a theory), and she was afraid of him. On the other hand, being able to shoot the Black Widow took incredible skill. Clint was torn between hatred and awe.

"A myth." Natasha said. She elaborated. "A man found by Hydra. They did experiments on him, gave him a metal arm. They trained him up in death and destruction, he's just as good as I am. Better, if you count his unquestioning obedience and disregard for personal health as 'good'. There were no records of him, no photographs, no video. Most of the intelligence community didn't believe he existed. He was appropriated by the Soviets and used by them for a long time, so that's where most of his fighting skills are from. Then he was sold back to Hydra. He's been credited with over two dozen assassinations." She frowned. "We actually don't know much. Maria is still putting together an organized file about him. She's been working on censoring the information I dumped in the internet from S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You did  _what_?!" Clint demanded at the same time Stark exclaimed, "She never mentioned the Winter Soldier to Pepper or me!"

"Clint, we'll explain in a second. And calm down, Stark. I called in a favor, she's just doing it because she owes me. She didn't tell you or Pepper because it was unnecessary."

Both men were unsatisfied with the responses they got, but they let it go.

Hey, at least Rogers' neighbor who tried to help Fury turned out to be Agent 13, Sharon Carter. She was good.

Rogers was summoned by Alexander Pierce the next day and refused to tell him anything, making him a fugitive. Nat, the brilliant woman she was, managed to get a location out of the flash drive: a military place in New Jersey where Rogers had trained. They found a large computer with Armin Zola's consciousness inside, and S.H.I.E.L.D. sent a missile at them. Tasha and Rogers fled to Sam Wilson, who took them in without a second thought, fed them, and agreed to help. If Clint hadn't liked the guy when he was introduced he definitely liked him now.

From there they retrieved Wilson's wings and kidnapped Jasper Sitwell, who was Hydra, apparently. Why Sitwell would join a Nazi branch was beyond Clint.

"I think it's because they're not exactly Nazis anymore. They don't talk about white supremacy; they're more totalitarian. They, as a group, want the world, as opposed to as a race," said Wilson when Clint asked. "I mean, I could be wrong, but it's all we've got to work with."

"Red Skull never mentioned white supremacy either, but he was partnered with Nazi Germany." Rogers frowned.

Clint was unsatisfied with this explanation, too, but again he let it go in order to hear the rest.

Natasha kicked Sitwell off a building and Wilson caught him after a few seconds, and they got him to reveal that the Project Insight heilcarriers would be using satellite guides and a Hydra algorithm to kill millions of people who could become threats to Hydra. The Winter Soldier and S.T.R.I.K.E. Team One ambushed them while they were driving, and Sitwell was thrown into oncoming traffic. Natasha was shot by the Winter Soldier  _again_ (Clint looked at her sharply and she gave him a comforting, minute nod- she was fine now) and Cap managed to rip off his mask.

The Winter Soldier was James Buchanan Barnes.

Experimented on in during WWII by Hydra when they captured the 107th and captured by them again when he fell off a train to his "death". He was amnesiac; he didn't remember his best friend. He was definitely brainwashed, too. He did "missions", he killed and didn't seem to care about it.

Wilson, Tasha, and Rogers were captured and being driven away when one of the guards in the vehicle turned out to be Hill. She sprung them out using one of those handy laser things (Clint wished he had one, they were few and far between. S.H.I.E.L.D. never got around to mass producing them) and took them to a secret base. Nat got medical aid and they planned out how they were gonna take down S.H.I.E.L.D. Hill gave them three replacement chips for the controller chips in the helicarriers and one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s newest inventions: a techie face mask thing that was thinner than rubber and harder to detect. There was only one in the world; it was just a prototype. Natasha infiltrated the World Security Council meeting, shot Alexander Pierce, and leaked a bunch of classified S.H.I.E.L.D. info while Rogers and Sam took out two helicarriers. The Winter Soldier showed up by then and took Sam out of the sky "like a guy pulling a kite string way too hard," destroying the wings. Sam engaged Brock Rumlow when the Winter Soldier went after the third helicarrier.

Rogers' and the Winter Soldier's fight was brutal. Rogers had to replace the chip and the Winter Soldier had to stop him.

"I broke his arm," muttered Rogers painfully, and Stark had to remind him that the Winter Soldier shot him. Several times.

Rogers was able to replace the chip, but as the helicarrier started to crash he fell out and landed unconscious in the Potomac. Wilson was being rescued by Natasha at that point; if Rogers hadn't washed up on the shore, the Winter Soldier was the only person who could've dragged him there. Rogers insisted that the Winter Soldier had dragged him out. Wilson and most of the rest of the Avengers weren't convinced. And the Winter Soldier was missing, so it wasn't like he could confirm that, yes, he did save Rogers, or, no, he didn't.

So  _that_  was why Rogers said he was feeling restless earlier. He wanted to find the Winter Soldier.

Natasha glanced at a calendar on the wall, "In about a week I've got to go face Capitol Hill. Congress is not happy. Maria will have sent me a file with the Winter Soldier data by then; I'll get you a solid copy. Clint, you need rest. Same for you, Steve." Both blonds got a turn being pinned by the evil eye. "Neither of you are allowed to do anything even remotely risky. Cap, you can't even leave the hospital before I get you that file. Not allowed." She hushed his protests with a single raised finger. "You've got to be in tip top shape, or something close, if you want a hair of a chance at finding your friend."

Rogers' lips were pressed in a firm line. He wasn't happy, but he nodded like a soldier receiving orders- sharp and brief. "Yes, ma'am."

Natasha obviously expected Clint to do the same. He groaned. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'll stay here with the Cap." Wilson declared. Then his eyes widened with sudden horror. "Shit! I still haven't called my mom!"

Stark winced sympathetically and passed him his phone. Wilson bolted out of the room.

When he had gone out of earshot, Stark blurted, "So, Barton. Any chance you want that floor in my Tower I personalized for you?"

"Does it have an archery room?"

"Obviously."

"Hell yes, I want that floor. Thanks, Stark. Don't know when, but I'll definitely stop by." He wondered if Stark liked dogs. He'd always kind of wanted a dog, but he'd never had the time or space for one.

"No problem, Katniss. What about you, Widow?"

"As soon as I can get out of DC I might just take you up on that," Natasha said, and that looked good enough for Stark, even though Clint knew it probably wasn't going to happen.

"Thor, obviously you and Jane have a floor, and you can stay anytime you like. Even our Star Spangled Man With a Plan gets his own floor."

Rogers pressed his lips together with annoyance, but then he just looked kind of sad. Clint didn't get it.

"You have converted entire floors in your tower specifically for our use?" Thor asked.

"I mean, it's not like I had anything better to do. Oh, and my Malibu house is complete now, so I'll probably head out there with Pep sometime soon." Stark switched topics quickly.

"Pepper said he did it because he's a big sap," Natasha whispered conspiratorially to Clint.

"Untrue!" Stark wiggled a finger at her. "I was just preparing housing for the Avengers in case of emergency!"

Natasha and Clint shared a look. "Lying," Natasha proclaimed.

"Definitely lying." Clint agreed without batting an eyelid. He was secretly pleased that Stark cared enough about their ragtag team to go that far.

Wilson came back in the room and Rogers asked him how his call went. Wilson shrugged. "I apologized for making her worry, she yelled at me, she cried a little, she said she was proud of me and I admitted I missed her. All things considered, it went pretty well."

"Wilson! Give me my phone." Stark opened and closed his fingers like a fucking toddler. Wilson gave him the phone back and Stark shot a quick text to somebody. "Hey, Birdie 2.0, do you want to join our super secret boy band?"

Wilson turned that statement over in his head for a couple seconds. His eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "You want me to be an Avenger?"

"Yessiree."

"But you don't even know me."

"Cap knows you. And it's not like I know these people that well, either." Stark pointed out.

Wilson's whole face lit up like a cheery Christmas tree. "Yes, god, yes. Thank you so much. I don't know what to say." Then his excitement turned into a puzzled frown, then embarrassment. "Boy band?" He looked at Natasha, and his words were heartfelt. "I'm sorry. I've been using female pronouns the whole time."

Natasha blinked.

Clint caught on a half a second after she did.

"Oh, no, Sam, you're fine. You got my pronouns right. I'm a woman." She smiled reassuringly. She glanced at Clint. "He's my new second favorite."

Wilson was pleasantly surprised. "Who's the first?"

"Clint."

Clint resisted a fist pump because that wouldn't be very cool.

"Can I tell my mom? Or should I keep this a secret? And I'll probably have to operate from home. I have a house here." Wilson asked.

Stark held out his phone, recovering quickly from his embarrassment at causing the misunderstanding. "Your call, Falcon. And we'll get you out of that house, just you wait."

He took the phone. "You know I've got a job, right? A real job?"

Stark made a "shoo" motion with his hand.

 Wilson called his mom.


	2. Research

  **tony stark**

Natasha and Barton declined Tony's offer of a ride to New York. Natasha insisted she had to stay and talk to Congress. Tony told her he could probably get her out of it, but she just rolled her eyes and told him, "I've got this." Barton wasn't going to leave her side. Tony had the suspicion that as soon as she could she was going to vanish, and Clint might just go with her.

Thor and Wilson stayed with Cap. Point Break was waiting for Dr. Foster to pick him up and Wilson was gonna keep the Capsicle company for a little bit before heading back to his own place.

Bruce waited until both he and Tony had climbed into Tony's expensive convertible before blurting, "That wasn't like you at all."

"Hmm?"

"Inviting Wilson into the Avengers. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was a good move, he seems like a good guy, but that wasn't like you at all." Bruce pressed his lips together. "What are you thinking?"

Tony guided them through traffic skillfully and thought about how to phrase his response. "You're right, my trust issues are deeper than the ocean. Good eye, Bruce. Very good. You know me too well."

"I mean, we've been together for the better part of two years. I'd hope I'd know you a little bit by now."

Tony blew him a kiss. Bruce swatted him lightly on the arm. "Stop that. Not that kind of together." He ignored Tony's pout. "So, why did you ask the Falcon to be an Avenger?"

"Mostly for selfish reasons. He flew with my tech, you know. I haven't worked on the exo-7 in ages and I really want to try and rebuild it. But make it better, obviously. And there's the fact that he's Cap's friend and maybe Nat's friend, and according to the two of them he fought against Hydra really well, and it would be kind of rude to invite everybody in the room but Wilson into my Tower. I mean, I could, but I won't. I invited Cap for that reason. It would be rude to have all the Avengers except for Steve Rogers, especially when he's done absolutely nothing personally to deserve me disliking him at all whatsoever-"

"Breath, Tony. And that light is about to turn red." Bruce pointed at the traffic light they were coming up on. Tony slowed down. "It's alright that you don't like the Cap. You don't have to like anybody. The fact that you're reaching out of your comfort zone to offer the two of them- and the rest of us- a place to stay is really good." His voice was quiet, and calm, and Tony was very very very very happy that he was there with him, since Pepper and Rhodey weren't.

"I  _should_  like him, though. He's Captain America. Who doesn't like Captain America?" Wow, that came out way more bitter than he'd intended. Oops.

Bruce's lips turned into that Thin Frustrated Line again. "I think you're forgetting that yes, he's Captain America, but he's also a person. A person with flaws and feelings and a temper. The whole 'Captain America' thing- it wasn't what came first. It's a title. Captain America is a symbol, a perfect soldier for the people to idolize and celebrate. He was just a kid from New York before all this. He's a person, and you're allowed to dislike people. Am I making sense? I don't think I'm making sense."

"Absolutely no sense at all," Tony lied. He really appreciated Bruce, who Wasn't That Kind Of Doctor but still seemed to know what to say anyway. Or something close enough to what should be said.

Bruce swore quietly and changed the topic slightly. "You haven't asked Colonel Rhodes to be an Avenger, and you've known him longer than any of us. Even Miss Potts."

"Pepper, Bruce. She wants you to call her Pepper."

"Okay, Pepper, then. You've known Colonel Rhodes longer than even Pepper."

"I actually did offer him a spot on our team. He turned me down. Didn't want to leave the military. Said he appreciated the offer, though."

"Oh."

"I told him that War Machine or Iron Patriot or whatever would always be welcome in a fight, even if he didn't change his mind."

"And what did he say to that?"

"He said, 'No shit.'"

The car ride back to New York was much less tense after that.

* * *

**steve rogers**

The next month was rough.

Steve got out of the hospital a week after the Avengers team meeting and met with Fury, Sam, and Natasha at Fury's grave. Natasha had a folder of the information they could scrounge up on the Winter Soldier Project. There wasn't much inside it. Too much had been blacked out and too much hadn't been stored in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database. Some of it was in Russian, which Steve couldn't read. There was a flash drive, and written in marker on it was "Read Files 1st"

Natasha had read the file, that was clear. She'd looked through everything personally. There were notes in the margins- "This one is dead" "Missing" "Death unconfirmed" "Probably falsified information" "This one lives in Nebraska, if you want revenge" etc.- and the Russian pages were always followed with a piece of notebook paper with a translation on it. He made sure to thank her several times in a text when she hadn't answered her phone. Her reply had been, "no probs :)" but he knew that it had probably been more difficult and time consuming than she'd played it off as.

The first thing Sam and Steve did on their journey to find Bucky was to check into a cheap, quiet motel room with a TV. Steve was hesitant to share the information Natasha had left for him with Sam, because this was  _Bucky_ , this was private, but he quickly realized that if he wanted Sam's help Sam deserved to know what was going on, and Natasha had seen it already, so why not let Sam in? He'd proved himself time after time.

So they read the files together.

It was worse than what Steve could have ever imagined.

And this was only a little bit of information.

Hydra's small Soviet branch had found Bucky before Zola had been released. They'd patched him up and contained him- an easy feat, according to the documents, since he didn't remember much and was already injured- until Zola got there. Then they attached the arm. There were a lot of medical things Steve didn't understand on that paper, but he did understand that they'd cut off part of his arm in order to do so, and he understood that Bucky had been  _awake_.

_"Subject X outfitted with the robotic arm today. Procedure did not go as smoothly as hoped. Had to re-administer anaesthesia drug halfway through procedure. Screaming unnerved several junior doctors. Subject X killed a senior technician upon awakening and it took three men to restrain Subject X. Seemed to reject the presence of the arm. Dr. Zola talked Subject X down and managed to convince Subject X that the arm was important and 'good'."_

_"The brainwashing of Subject X has been difficult. Subject X is strong and has resisted against all but Dr. Zola, and even with him Subject X is still not as malleable as hoped. This has changed recently, to our delight. One junior doctor came in today with the news that Captain America has been declared dead. Subject X reacted negatively. This piqued our interest. Dr. Zola was pleased and had a television set brought in. Subject X was restrained and showed news coverage of Captain America's death. Further brainwashing attempts were much more successful, and Subject X is much more compliant and quiet."_

_"One of our senior technicians, after working on Subject X's arm, remarked to another that Subject X reminded him of a duckling. Subject X had resisted any attempts to work on the arm until Dr. Zola had shown up, and brainwashing works best when coming from Dr. Zola. The duckling comparison was brought on by the observation that Subject X seemed to have 'imprinted' on Dr. Zola. Dr. Zola is familiar to Subject X due to Subject X's previous time in captivity, and the most likely theory is that Subject X is clinging to anything familiar. While his obedience to Dr. Zola is appreciated, this need for familiarity is hazardous."_

_"First electroshock therapy session was successful. Subject X recalls training and languages and other things we've programmed. Brain damage minimal. Had to repeat an hour later, but this was expected as we are in the early stages."_

_"Subject X placed in cryostasis for the first time. Removal from cryostasis a week later was almost catastrophic. Subject X's temperature nearly could not be raised fast enough and almost resulted in Subject X's death. Shaking and trembling persisted for an hour after removal. Could not dry self or stand alone. Struck out violently when approached after mobility was slightly recovered. Electroshock therapy immediately after cryostasis removal seems more effective than previous electroshock therapy sessions."_

_"Second cryostasis removal went slightly better. Subject X reacts positively to soothing words and assurances of safety. Shaking and trembling lasted for only forty minutes. Could not dry self or stand alone but went along meekly to the electroshock therapy chair. Did not resist at all. Dr. Zola's presence or the presence of a young blond male are recommended until 'all yearnings for his shining best friend are purged' (-Dr. Zola)."_

_"Conditioning to pain has been fairly successful. Cries out when most bones are broken and screams during electroshock therapy (a mouth guard or bit is recommended) but does not react to ordinary blows. Healing rate remarkable; a fractured rib can heal in two weeks and a bruise can disappear in two days. Testing and conditioning to bullet wounds scheduled for next week."_

_"Subject X given the name 'the Winter Soldier' today. Conditioned to respond to that instead of 'Subject X' or Dr. Zola's 'Sergeant Barnes'. Conditioning did not take long."_

_"Nutrient intake through intravenous needle before missions should be as follows:..."_

There was more.

Steve had needed a break after the first ten pages.

He listened to one of the audio clips when Sam was out buying fast food. There were three, but Natasha had written them a note saying that the first two were in German and she'd printed out a translated script for each. The first audio clip was just a long list of drugs and doses to use with him since he was resistant and vulnerable to different drugs. The second was a short list of "trigger words" (commands) for a "handler's" use. All of them were in German. Some were just random words, while others did what they meant. Trigger words included things for falling unconscious for ten minutes, for a mission report, for shutting up, and for waking immediately. Steve didn't listen to the whole thing. He didn't want to know the rest of the words. He didn't want to have the power to bark something in German and have his best friend immediately follow an order like a damn robot. He was afraid that one day, if in a desperate situation, he'd use it, and then Bucky would never trust him ever again. The last audio clip turned out to be a list of trigger words in English, so he didn't listen to that one either. He didn't tell Sam about them. 

There were three videos, and Steve decided not to watch those. Sam, who was in the room at the time, asked why.

"They're probably Bucky getting tortured. They're videos of him in a vulnerable state, and that's something private. I just don't think we should watch them without his permission. We've already invaded his privacy enough." He left out the part about his own weakness, his unwillingness to watch his friend getting hurt. Because it was one thing to read about it and another thing entirely to watch it, and he hadn't been ready for the first one so there was no chance in hell he was ready for the second one.

They hit the road the next day.

* * *

**the winter soldier**

The Soldier does nothing.

He failed his mission and cannot find it in himself to return to his handler. He sits in the abandoned building and does nothing. He feels something  _(not good not good not good do not feel)_  for not staying with the Target longer after dragging him out of the wreckage. He should have done more than just waited to see if he was breathing.

His arm- his weak arm- aches. He thought he set it and bound it properly after the Target had broken it in the fight for the chip, but maybe not. It does not matter. He can shut down any reaction to pain- he's done it before, he's doing it now, he'll do it again- and he does not need the arm. If it heals enough to function it is enough. He might re-break and re-set it later. Right now he does nothing.

Many of his ribs are broken, too. They ache as they begin to heal, and his breathing isn't right. This is because of the combined efforts of Captain America and that large metal beam to kill him.

(No, that's not right. Captain America had just wanted to stop him. And he knows somehow that some of his ribs had been broken before he woke up in the Chair the day the ships fell out of the sky. Maybe he had disobeyed an order and hadn't been given time to heal before being given a new objective.)

There are other fractures. They don't impede his movement and will most likely heal within the week.

The Soldier failed his mission. He failed, and he failed because his target had felt familiar. The Target had called out to him with a name and the label of "friend" and the Soldier forgot how to function properly. He  _(felt something)_  malfunctioned and couldnt proceed as usual. He did not make the first move, he did not fight to kill, there were many head shots he could've taken but he aimed his gun at other body parts instead. He struck out and nearly killed the Target- nearly completed his mission- but he could not finish it. He should've ripped out the Target's throat with his strong arm but instead he just hit him, over and over and over until  _I'm with you until the end of the line_  made him stop, because instead of the Target's bruised and broken face, the face he saw was clean and much smaller, sadder (almost) but faking a smile for someone's benefit- his benefit?- and belonged to a much smaller body with clothes that were too big and hair that was styled in a way that looked old. It was a familiar face, the face he saw, and it made him believe that more in him was malfunctioning than just his programming, because the muscles in his chest just got tighter and tighter.

He needs this man to live. To survive. To stop looking at him with those teary blue eyes like that- like he's the best damn thing in the world because he's not, he's  _so_  not-

What he has to do is finish his mission. Maybe they'll show up at the rendezvous point if he does. He is supposed to wait where he is and routinely check the rendesvouz point until they return. He doesn't. He's malfunctioning.

They'll find him and fix him, he knows. It is only a matter of when and where.

The Soldier saw his own face for the first time  _(NOT THE FIRST TIME NOT THE FIRST TIME)_ when he looked in a glass window in the abandoned building. He does not think he looks very impressive or intimidating. He does not look like anyone important, which will be (and has been, especially on missions, he knows somehow) beneficial when blending in with civilians.

His mission. His  _mission._

_Mission objective: Kill Captain America. Mission status: Failure._

He failed. He is broken. He knows what happens to broken weapons. They throw his guns away when they can't be fixed, throw out bits and pieces of his arm, his metal arm, and replace them with new pieces. They will discipline him for this failure and then fix his programming or, if nothing can be salvaged, he will be terminated. They are disappointed in him, he knows, and that isn't good. An emotion they've taught him he owes them is gratefulness. His masters gave him purpose. They gave him his strong arm. They took him when he was nothing and made him their weapon, their tool to better the world. They have forgiven his failures and malfunctioning (never happens. Never. Not on a real mission) after disciplining and repairing him. He functions only for them. 

(They are gone. Why does the Soldier still function?)

He knows that Captain America and his flying companion are trying to find him. He walks for a long time to a base he knows and blows it up, making sure to leave a paper trail of evidence that it is, in fact, a Hydra base. When he knows that they're on their way he returns to D.C. and hides in an abandoned building, ignoring the blisters forming his feet. He realizes that he is waiting for orders.

His mission had been Captain America, and he'd been unable- no,  _unwilling_ \- to kill him. He was unique in that, the Soldier knows. He has never failed a mission before. An error might delay one, yes, but he's never  _failed_. 

_(This could be a delay. A minor setback.)_

The Soldier requires orders. A mission of some sort. He must treat this like a normal mission. He must finish it-  _no no don't kill him_ \- and find his masters.

Or. He could  _not_.

Thethought _(weapons don't have thoughts)_ brings him up short. Disobey an order? Diverge from the mission?

No. That goes against all his programming. He won't do that. 

But he has to.

_Mission altered. New objective: Research. Learn more about the Target so elimination will be more efficient. Mission status: Incomplete._

(The new mission is still Captain America, but it's also "Bucky", the name Captain America had called him. He pretends he doesn't realize this. He has to. If he acknowledges it even a little bit he'll acknowledge that his coding is too broken even for his masters to fix and he requires termination.)

He walks to the abandoned rendezvous point and takes everything necessary that he can fit in a duffel bag. Bandages, guns, knives, a spare sensitivity glove (his strong hand has trouble sensing pressure and such without it). A civilian outfit left by one of the doctors. The Captain will be looking for a weapon in all black; in body armor that covers everything but his head and his strong arm. He is not looking for a weapon in blue trousers and jacket. 

He returns to his abandoned building, and once he has set out his weapons the way he wants them (except for a Sa. Vz. 61 Skorpion, a SIG-Sauer P220, and as many knives as he can hide on his person) and changed clothes, he walks until he comes across a small civilian settlement with a building containing a large collection of books. (A library. The name on the building includes "library", and that, he recognizes.)

The biography section has several books about Captain America and one about the Howling Commandos (he only picks that one up because it has Captain America's face on it) and he takes all of them and sits in a chair in a corner where he can see everything. 

There is a picture of a boy with his face but younger and more pleasant. He does not let it get to his head. He focuses on Captain America. 

He reads the books like he would read a mission briefing; skimming and memorizing important details. Especially the name. Now, he's not just the Target, the mission, "Captain America". He's Steven Grant Rogers. He's Steve.

_"Steven Grant Rogers was born July 4, 1920, to poor Irish immigrant parents Sarah and Joseph Rogers."_

_"Steve Rogers was frail and sickly growing up and when he tried to enlist in the army he was classified as 4-F. In 1943, Dr. Abraham Erskine offered him a chance in Project Rebirth to become strong using the super soldier serum he'd developed and Rogers accepted. Dr. Erskine was killed shortly after Rogers' stunning transformation and the super soldier serum has never been successfully replicated."_

_"Howard Stark flew Agent Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers out into enemy territory and dropped Rogers there so that Rogers could rescue many P.O.W.s in a Hydra compound. His motivation for going, Carter later said in an interview, was his best friend James Barnes, who was one of the P.O.W.s."_

_"James Buchanan Barnes, called 'Bucky' by his friends, was born in Shelbyville, Indiana in 1917 and moved with his father and three younger siblings to Brooklyn, New York in 1926. His father died in a training accident at a U.S. army camp in 1927. In 1930, Barnes met and befriended Steve Rogers. Barnes stayed in an orphanage for the rest of his childhood but frequently slept over at Rogers' small apartment."_

_"The Howling Commandos formed shortly after Captain America freed over one hundred P.O.W.s from a Hydra base, including them, on his first mission. The members of the Howling Commandos were Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan (1911-1991), Gabriel 'Gabe' Jones (1917-2008), Jim Morita (1918-2002), James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes (1917-1944), Jacques 'Frenchie' Dernier (1910-2000), and James Montgomery 'Monty' Falsworth (1919-1987). Barnes was the only Commando to die in service of his country."_

_"Barnes, a sergeant during WWII and Rogers' best friend, fell to his death in the 1940s, sending grief-stricken Rogers into the attack on Hydra that would be his downfall, as well."_

This is all valuable information, but it doesn't tell him enough. He needs to know more. This craving, this  _need_ , is so unfamiliar to him and he clings to it fiercely. It's a human thing, a  _person_  thing, and he isn't a person, but this emotion is proof enough that he used to be one, a long time ago. He doesn't remember, but he must have been a person. He wouldn't have this craving, whatever it is, otherwise.

He reads all of the books about Captain America in the library. He goes to more libraries, but usually they just have the same books. He rereads them. He keeps himself functioning and overhears a young female  _(5-7 years old, no training, 49.2 lbs, 1.2 meters high, unarmed, not a threat)_  begging an adult male  _(early forties, male, military, 170 lbs, 1.73 meters high, unarmed, dangerous but not a threat)_ to take them to see the Captain America Smithsonian exhibit. The male agrees to the idea and the Soldier stealthily follows them there. They never even notice him.

The museum is huge. He pauses when he sees the metal detectors because he knows his strong arm will cause a scene, but he sees the museum guards and goes to steal a uniform. It is easy. He dresses quickly and glances at his name tag. Stan.

The museum is too crowded and hot and it smells like old meat. He halts when he sees a face on a big glass exhibit. It's  _his_  face, but it's not his face. This Bucky Barnes is young and cocky and the dark circles under his eyes aren't big enough. He looks just like he did in photographs in those books. And there's a video over there, a video of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers and they're laughing and smiling at each other like each is the universe to the other and  _"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield"_  and suddenly the Soldier does not know how to breathe. He isn't sure how he gets out of the museum, only that he does and he jostles his weak arm on the way and it hurts and his head is splitting and he _can't breathe_.

Captain America hadn't been lying to him about this. He had been his friend, once. He can't remember but he must have been because his face, the face he hadn't seen himself until a while ago, the face that is tired and ragged and pale and growing stubble, the face that must  _never ever_  be seen or caught on camera or documented because he is a  _ghost_  is right there in a large museum exhibit  _laughing_. 

The Soldier had known, of course, that Captain America hadn't been lying. He'd known as soon as he'd read the books and seen the pictures in them. He supposed that it hadn't quite sunken in. Pictures could be faked. Books could be faked. But this was different. This was so much bigger. So much more overwhelming. A  _video_. 

He walks back to his abandoned building. His hand is trembling. That's no good. He'll get in trouble for showing weakness. He doesn't want to go back to the Chair. He clenches his fists in order to make it stop. He controls himself. The shaking stops.  _Good._ He shouldn't be this weak. He was so controlled before, so distant from emotions and thought. Just following orders. None of this. Or maybe there had been.

The Soldier returns to the exhibit the next day. He reads one of the rejection cards from Steve Rogers applying to the army and finds a "Summary of Patient Health Issues" and wonders for a moment how he lasted this long.

_Asthma. Scarlet Fever. Rheumatic Fever. Sinusitus. Chronic or frequent colds. High blood pressure. Palpitation or pounding in heart. Easy fatigability. Heart trouble. Nervous trouble of any sort. Has had household contact with tuberculosis. Parent/sibling with diabetes..._

Other health issues included in the display were astigmatism, scoliosis, partial deafness, stomach ulcers, pernicious anemia, and flat feet.

There's just so much and pictures of pre-serum Steve Rogers display a ninety-five pound asthmatic who could never get a decent meal. The Soldier can feel himself getting worked up and panicked because  _how is he safe how is he alive how is he well is he well is he healthy is he okay_ and shuts himself down, going back to blank and emotionless, because that's so much easier to deal with than panic over a man he can barely remember.

He wonders if he still has any of these issues. 

He tracks down Steve Rogers 

_(New mission objective: Confirm safety of Steve Rogers. Mission status: Incomplete. Previous mission status: Temporarily inactive, incomplete)_

and the winged man and follows them through Florida for a few days just to reassure himself that yes, they are safe. Some part of him is twists at seeing Steve Rogers frowning at being unable to find him. Another part of him sees Wilson and Rogers being friendly and feels a different kind of twist. That is wrong, he knows. If he truly is (was) Steve Rogers' friend he would not feel this at Rogers being not alone and having someone to help him. He wouldn't feel this (a voice inside him gives it a name) possessive anger. He has no right to feel this possessive anger.

He considers revealing himself but decides against it. He is not ready. He does not know what to say to this stranger-who-shouldn't-be-a-stranger. And his friend, the one the Soldier kicked off one of the ships, may want retribution, and while the Soldier knows he could take it, he hesitates to turn himself in while that memory is still fresh in the winged man's mind. 

_Mission objective: Confirm safety of Steve Rogers. Mission status: Complete. Returning to previous mission objective:_ _Research. Learn more about the Target so elimination will be more efficient._

He goes back to D.C.

The worst part, he thinks later, the worst part is the video. That clip on an endless loop of him smiling with Steve. They're both laughing and grinning. Rogers, a person, a human being, is smiling at him. At  _him_. And it's not a vicious smile, or a smug one, like the scientists and the doctors and the guards and the handlers sometimes got (he doesn't know how he knows this), it's warm and friendly and something a  _person_  receives. He had been someone. Someone important. He'd had a friend. His chest ached and a pain he didn't know what to do with filled every bone in his body. He was receiving kindness, kindness with no strings attached, no hidden threats. He had been kind in return. He had laughed.

And then they took that away from him.

The seething emotions, a Brooklyn-accented voice inside him calls them "hatred" and "rage", that courses through him to cover up the pain makes him shake. He trembles and walks back to the abandoned building with clenched fists, and he and knows he should be calmer. He shouldn't have these emotions. This is wrong. This is very wrong.

But it's not wrong. James Buchanan Barnes used to have these emotions regularly. They were okay. They were allowed- No, they weren't allowed, because there was no one in charge of him to allow or forbid things. He could  _feel_.

He sees red, and he punches the walls of his room so hard that they break, so hard that they're filled with jagged, rough holes, so hard that his weak fist bleeds. His strong arm just whirs and clicks.

_(This is not possessive anger. This is just anger.)_

He decides then that he will not go back to his masters. He will not. They have taken too much from him. He will not let them coerce him into returning. He will  _die_  first.

The day after that he remembers something else.

Steve Rogers is small and he's got his arm around the kid's shoulder, and they're both about fifteen, and Steve's got a bloody lip and they're both drunk and show tunes are blaring out from their mouths. They slur and shout and stumble down the street, and he uses his arm to pull Steve close to his face and he can smell the booze on him and they both just grin and sing louder. It's dark and they're both sweaty and there's a rancid smell coming from the alley on their right but they don't care, and when he forgets the words he just whistles the tune and listens to Steve sing.

He collapses right there in the museum, and when he's back to himself  _(who is he? who is "himself"?)_  enough to form cohesive thoughts he pushes the civilians crowding around him away and flees. He does not go back.

_Mission objective: Research. Learn more about the Target so elimination will be more efficient. Mission status: Complete._

He's remembering things and malfunctioning. More proof that he was a person, once. He needs more. But it's been weeks and this is the first thing to come back? No, it needs to be faster. He needs some sort of catalyst.

His programming had started to malfunction when the Target had called out that name and tried to connect with him. After their separation, the programming still unravels too slowly- it has barely changed at all. He is still a weapon. He is still malfunctioning and alone and without orders. He still remembers little, far too little. Born in 1917, but he barely remember anything in all of his years of being alive. How many years? He doesn't even know what year it is- wait, yes he does, he saw a newspaper last week. It is 2014. He barely remembers anything in over ninety years of being alive.

Cryostasis.

A chill runs up his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the word. There's a seeping cold in his bones and if he forgets where he is he can almost feel the frost on his skin, can almost feel the ice in his hair. He is programmed to know this word. To fear this word. Cryostasis. Perhaps he has not been "alive" for as long as he thought. Alive from 1917 to 1944, certainly, and alive for however long it took to program him, and alive since he was given his mission the day the ships shot themselves out of the sky. He was frozen for periods of time in between, periods of time when there was no mission, but how long? He knows the Chair, and knows it is why he is blank all the time. He wonders how much the Chair took away.

Perhaps, he thinks after a few hours trying to feel warm again, if he decides to use Steve Rogers to remember things faster, the winged companion will want (after he is sufficiently punished for his actions in D.C) to reprogram him- still to follow orders, but instead to be commanded by Captain America. The Soldier considers this. It would not be so bad, he thinks. Certainly not worse than his previous masters. He'd have to be careful to find the balance between regaining his memories and obeying their orders, but he could do it. Maybe Rogers would even smile at him again. Like he did in the video.

All the Soldier is is someone who follows orders. He will follow Rogers' orders instead of his previous masters', because what his previous masters took from him Rogers wants to return. He will do as he's told and follow Rogers and his companion and fight for them and try to remember who he used to be. He would be a person, but he'd be  _their_  person. 

Unless they don't want him to be a person.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. What if they don't want him to be a person? 

(He is still a bit uncertain about what being a "person" entails. He thinks it means "emotions" and "memories" and "not going in cryostasis" and "not going back to the Chair", which he decides he will require of future handlers. He knows that the definition of person that is for him is different from the definition of person for civilians, masters, opponents, and others. It has to be. He is programmed a certain way and operates a certain way and is afraid of what will happen if he breaks too far from that coding, if he claims too much "personhood", if he tries to make himself equal to masters. Not just what will be done to him, but what he will become.)

_(BROKEN)_  

If Steve Rogers decides that he does not want the Soldier to be a person, then the Soldier will run. He has lasted this long without being found. He can continue. And if he can't, he will die. 

(Something that seems more and more likely, what with the malfunctioning and growing sense of pain and confusion and the healing that should be taking place but isn't.)

The Soldier is aware that there is something wrong in his thought process. An error. Things aren't making sense.  _He_  isn't making sense. He dismisses it. Any errors in his logic will be fixed when his masters- his new masters- see fit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier doesn't really have a wide vocabulary (both in English and Russian), especially not when it comes to words that have to do with emotions. He knows enough to do what Hydra wants him to do. And the words about feelings he does know are mostly "negative"- disappointment, rage, anger, pain- because that's all he's had for seventy years: the negative stuff.
> 
> His point of view will always be present tense. Everybody else gets past tense. Sorry, I don't make the rules. (Yes, I do.)
> 
> Gun information/names from [here](http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Captain_America:_The_Winter_Soldier).
> 
> A meta about the Winter Soldier's "strong arm" (the metal one, duh) that I'm using when writing this fic [here](http://therealdeepsix.tumblr.com/post/83026776750/ive-been-thinking-about-buckys-robot-arm-a-lot).
> 
> Updated list of health issues on 6/19/14. Oh, Steve.


	3. D.C., Russia, Detroit

**sam wilson**

It was late May and the trail was dead. They'd looked around D.C. briefly after Steve had been released from the hospital, but Steve was convinced that the Winter Soldier wouldn't be there. He and Sam drove up and down the East coast, sniffing out what they could, but they ended up with nothing.

There was one incident early on in Nebraska, a building that blew up and left a large body count of scientists that turned out to be connected to Hydra, that convinced the two of them that the Winter Soldier was at least  _alive_ , if nothing else. He was looking for revenge, it seemed. Documents suddenly saw light that revealed the whole base had been Hydra.

But after that there wasn't anything at all. No extraordinary killings or crimes that suggested the Winter Soldier's presence. No missing Hydra agents turned up dead. Sam knew now why he'd gone undetected for so long. He was an expert at hiding. They traveled around the rest of the country, searching rapidly, even going to Florida. Sam knew that Steve wished they could investigate in each state more, but there wasn't a good enough reason to. If there weren't any signs of the Winter Soldier, they left and went to the next town, the next county, the next state. Steve didn't want to get too far behind the Winter Soldier, wherever he was. Once they'd gone to every state, Steve promised, they'd double back and look more thoroughly. Right now they just needed to cover as much ground as they could.

Maria Hill, the gorgeous woman who'd saved them from S.T.R.I.K.E. Team One and had been Fury's second in command, contacted Stark Industries' CEO, Virginia Potts, and told them that one branch of Hydra had been taken down and Hill was headed back to D.C. Sam hadn't been aware she'd ever left D.C. but the alert that the enemy had one less leg to stand on was nice. A team of ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. led by someone called Melinda May eliminated John Garret's forces. Fury had even assisted. Many prisoners were taken, including some guy named Grant Ward. There had been no indication that they'd been involved with the Winter Soldier program or that the Winter Soldier had ever stopped by. A man named Mike Peterson, codename Deathlok, had been freed from Hydra's clutches, but he was MIA now. Potts had relayed all this information to Steve with a mild tone and asked if he had Natasha Romanov's number because Hill wanted to tell her something and Natasha's numbers were disconnected. Steve replied in the negative.

But then they did have her number, because Natasha called them using a new number with the suggestion that maybe the Winter Soldier had gone to Russia. They had good reason to believe he'd worked for the KGB for a long time, so maybe he went back to his "roots".

Steve took that hard. "His roots are  _Brooklyn_ , Natasha," he'd muttered stubbornly before telling her Hill wanted to speak to her. Natasha ignored his comment and let him know that she'd contact Hill when she got the chance.

They went to Russia anyway. Stark paid for their plane tickets. He'd insisted that Steve needed to get laid and "Russian chicks are hot, trust me, pal. Look for that assassin but take a break, too." Steve had responded only with the suggestion that in the future he should best keep his comments about Russian women to himself when Natasha was nearby.

Clint Barton actually met them in an airport in Moscow. He looked much better than when they'd seen him last. His nose was broken, though, and there was a small bandage on it. "Had to take one of Stark's Quinjet's in order to get here before you guys. Neither of you speak Russian. I do. Oh, and let me tell you, they were not happy when I trespassed in their airspace unannounced. The shit I do for you, Cap," Barton had complained with a shake of his head. 

They didn't talk about Natasha. His anxiety at being separated from her was prevalent now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, and he was trying so hard not to show it that it seemed rude to point it out.

They traveled in Russia from mid to late May, and that was where they were when Sam really realized the trail was dead.

Steve looked like he wanted to break a chair. "It's only been a  _month_  and we've already lost him."

"Maybe he's not in Russia after all," Sam considered. "He could be in some other European country. Hell, he could be anywhere in Asia. Or Africa. Or North America. Or South America. Literally anywhere. We barely know anything about the Winter Soldier or what he's supposed to do in this situation."

"Maybe, Cap," Barton said quietly, looking thoughtful, "maybe you won't be able to find him. If he doesn't want to be found he won't be. After he finds  _himself_ , he'll find you. You'll never be able to find him if he doesn't want to be found."

A thick silence settled over their dim, musty hotel room. Barton looked like he regretted opening his mouth. Steve brooded. Sam turned the statement over in his mind.

"That was waxing on poetic," he commented just to break the tension.

In the end they had to fly back to the States. Hydra had reared its ugly head once again, and they were needed.

* * *

**the winter soldier**

The Soldier makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and tries to focus on the road he's walking on, on putting one foot in front of the other and continuing that way. 

Just when he'd decided that he was ready to go to Steve Rogers, the man had decided that he had pressing matters to attend to in Russia. The Soldier had followed him and his companion to the airport and had watched them board the plane. He could have snuck on board if he needed to. It would be a bit difficult, but it was possible.

Instead he waits. He figures that Rogers will return from Russia eventually and all the effort it would take to pursue him there is not worth the stress on his injuries. He needs to heal as quickly as possible so he'll be more useful.

He breaks his arm again when he's somewhere far from civilian ears. He does not want the attention his brief scream of pain would surely bring. He makes sure that he has a rag in his mouth to bite down on so that even if a civilian does happen to wander around nearby, any sound he made would be muffled and less noticeable. The Soldier makes absolutely certain to set it right this time and is more careful than usual when tying it up.

He tries not to move his torso too much over the next couple of days. He does not know exactly how long it has been since his ribs were broken, but they will heal all the faster if he stays immobile. It is not difficult. His mission 

_(Mission objective: Submit to Steve Rogers for recalibration, reprogramming, and repair)_

does not have a specific timeframe other than "soon".

He continues to get splitting headaches. His torso aches, even though most of his ribs have healed. His eyelids sometimes fail and close when he does not want them to, and they stay closed for a long time (he believes he has lost whole days this way), which causes hallucinations of falling and snow (when his eyes open again he is afraid and a breath away from screaming). His throat is rough and raw, and he can't help but suspect that this is not normal, that this is a result of something he has  _not_  been doing. What that something is, he doesn't remember. He doesn't think he wants to remember.

His movements become more difficult to make. His limbs- all of them, not just the strong arm- are heavy, heavier than they should be. He flips the knives for practice and  _misses_  with his weak arm several times. Loading a gun takes a second longer than it should. His reflexes are slower. 

Some days he feels vertigo. Other days he has trouble standing up. This gets worse after the two week mark passes; two weeks away from Hydra.

He feels a burst of alertness if his scratches himself with his fingernails  _(too long, just like the hair on his face)_  and he adopts the practice. He never goes past the first layer of skin and his advanced (civilians aren't like this, he's killed enough of them to know that) healing rate always makes the scratches disappear.

He drinks water. He knows how to swallow, of course, so it's easy. He had seen a woman and her daughter sharing a drink in a park one day and saw that it replenished their energy. He took a water bottle from a store and drank, and it made some of the ache in his stomach go away. His throat felt better, too, and he was more alert. He mentally noted that it is a thing people do.

He learns quickly that people also go into stalls and excrete fluids into toilets. It makes sense, any water he drank that his body didn't use would have to exit him somehow. It surprised him the first time when he was in a store (going to steal more water bottles) and felt something wrong and made a dash for a "restroom". He was not sure how he knew to relieve himself in the white toilet, but he did, and he knew to flush and clean his hands. Bucky Barnes must have done so in the past. If the Soldier had been capable of pride he would have felt it. He was becoming more and more like a person every day.

When Steve Rogers flies back from Russia, the Soldier is there in the airport waiting for him. There had been five Hydra men with guns waiting for him, too, but the Soldier killed them (with his strong arm, of course, since his weak arm was living up to its name and wasn't healed yet) and disposed of their bodies as the plane touched down. He wasn't going to let them hurt Steve.

The Soldier waits out of sight, standing in a crowd with his weak arm in a sling under his jacket and his strong hand in the jacket pocket, and his duffel bag with weapons and his body armor inside hanging from his left shoulder. He watches Steve, the once-winged man, and a blond male  _(late thirties, 170 lbs, 1.78 meters high, well trained, armed, dangerous, possible threat)_  collect their bags and considers approaching them. He decides not to. He doesn't know the blond-who-is-not-Steve and can't risk him being an enemy in the state he's in.

They get in a nondescript black vehicle, and the city is thick enough that the Soldier can pursue them on foot. There is blood pooling in his shoes four hours later from re-opened and peeling blisters and he decides that this makes him less useful and he needs to steal a car. He knows how to hot wire it, despite not remembering ever having to do so. He takes an old truck; no car alarm. He switches the license plate with the car beside it and drives, identifying and following Rogers' car without making it obvious that he's doing so, taking the long routes but going fast, making sure not to lose sight of the black vehicle (he's memorized the license plate) for more than twenty minutes. An hour later he steals a different car. Another hour passes, a new car. 

This repeats for four hours until Rogers' vehicle starts driving down several abandoned roads and the Soldier has to drive to a more populated area so as not to look suspicious. He pulls over after 809.2 meters and retrieves a M4A1 and a SIG-Sauer P220 and marches back to where he'd last seen the car.

He's in a city, a big one, but the buildings are old and falling apart and the neighborhoods are just looking worse and worse as he goes along. Factory buildings are abandoned and falling apart. He watches the car pull into a parking lot with an armored vehicle most likely full of threats. To the Soldier, not to Rogers. Most likely.

The Soldier hides in an abandoned building across the street from the parking lot and watches as Steve, the man who had wings, and the blond-who-is-not-Steve step out of their vehicle and greet the dark haired female  _(mid thirties, 142 lbs, 1.73 meters high, well trained, armed, dangerous, possible threat)_  who steps out of the vehicle. She speaks to them and makes a beckoning movement with her hand at the vehicle, and then three males and three females step out, all carrying Glocks (17 or 19, the Soldier can't tell from where he is).

They all gather around together and begin speaking, planning something, and the Soldier's grip on his gun loosens. Steve Rogers is with comrades.

He feels lightheaded and wonders why his body keeps malfunctioning. He wonders what he's not doing right.

His eyelids don't stay open much longer.

* * *

 

**steve rogers**

"Alright, we think there's about thirty armed foot soldiers and twelve scientists in there. There are two levels we know of, and you're looking at them. I want Barton, Manning, Haggard, Manley, and Kang on second floor. Rogers, Wilson, Baker, and Forrest will take first and clear the path so the other five can get to second floor." Maria Hill dictated sharply. She continued outlining the plan as Steve tried not to worry about Bucky, wherever he was. It wasn't working.

While in Russia, Hill had gotten in contact and requested back up; she and Stark had detected a Hydra base in Detroit by hacking something (Steve wasn't clear on the details, something to do with radio and email) and didn't have enough agents to storm the base alone, since Stark was on a business trip. Barton had happily agreed to the idea without asking Sam or Steve. He said, "Aww, Steve, I'm bored out of my fucking mind," when Steve hadn't reacted positively, and the fact that it was Hydra and they might have information on Bucky went unsaid. That was really the biggest reason why Steve agreed to leave Russia.

Stark had paid for their plane ticket back, to Steve's dismay. He told him that he had money, he could pay for it, but Stark insisted that they ride first class. Sam and Barton were elated and got really drunk on the plane. Steve couldn't blame them, it was a ten hour flight. Steve had a glass of wine and made sure to sit on the outside seat so the two of them couldn't run off and get into any trouble.

When they landed, Barton looked around, checking exits and looking for threats, so Steve didn't bother doing it himself. Barton had the best eyesight and training anyway. They collected their luggage and weren't surprised to find a man standing in the lobby with a white sign that said "SPANGLES" in red and blue letters. Sam laughed when he saw him. Steve just shook his head and followed the man to the black car waiting for them outside.

They drove for eight hours and Sam and Barton tried to nap off their hangovers. Steve looked at blueprints of the building Stark sent him via email. (Steve hadn't even known he had an account, but it was already logged in on the StarkPad in the car.) Steve texted Hill his suggestion for how they should proceed, and she replied with a bit more information, so he modified his plan until it became the one she was outlining now.

They'd arrived in civvies, of course, unlike the ex-agents already there, but Hill had three Kevlar vests she let them wear, so Steve felt a little better.

"Everyone take a comm." Hill had eight in the palm of her hand. Each person but Barton took one in put it into their ear. "They're on constantly, so you don't have to touch your ear to speak." Kind of like the ones they had during the alien attack, Steve remembered. "Barton, Manning, try not to swear so much, we can all hear you. Barton, here's yours."

Steve expected some kind of smart remark, but both (ex-)agents just put their comms. in. Steve noticed that Barton had a comm. that was different from everyone else's, and when he went to put it in he took out something that was already there. Barton noticed his curious look, but he didn't provide any information, so Steve didn't pry.

"I'll be monitoring from the car." Hill concluded. "Good luck."

They barged in through the front doors with guns ablaze. They moved as one unit; Steve in the center, Barton on his left, Sam on his right. Forrest and Baker were on Sam's right and Barton's team were at his own left and behind him. They cut through the large hallway in an arrow shape, and Steve felt a pang as he was reminded of other places in another time, when he had his Howling Commandos at his side and they fought their way through Europe. He brushed the thought from his mind as Sam shot a Hydra foot soldier in the shoulder. There were three posted in this hall, and they were all taken out easily. 

Barton split his team into two. He and Kang took the left staircase while Manning, Haggard, and Manley took the staircase that was down the hall a little further and to the right. Steve's team cautiously went down the hallway, and Baker burst open the first door they saw. Forrest called the second door.

They went on like this for about a half an hour. By the time they were through, Hill had left the car and was waiting for them at the door.

She congratulated them on a job well done, and then she got down to business. "Casualties?"

Kang stepped forward. "Eighteen foot soldiers and two scientists dead, seven foot soldiers and six scientists wounded." Her jaw tightened. "Manley took a bullet to the shoulder."

Hill turned her head to stare sharply at Manley, who was sitting with his back leaning against the wall. She snapped her fingers at Kang and Haggard. "You two, get him in the car. He needs medical attention. One of you stay with him at the hospital, the other should return here. Where are the prisoners?" 

"Down the hall to the left." Baker made a gesture. "Want to see them?"

Hill nodded, and Baker led her to the room where the Hydra members had been restrained. On the way, Steve heard her ask if there were any documents they found that she needed to see.

Steve frowned. They had been focusing on not dying rather than documents. He asked Forrest to please double check the labs and collect anything important. To Sam, he said, "That's twenty five foot soldiers and eight scientists. There were supposed to be thirty foot soldiers and twelve scientists."

Sam considered it. "Those were just estimates, but if it bothers you that much we can have another look around."

Steve nodded. "We won't be long," he told Manning.

"If you ain't back before Hill, Baker, and Forrest we're leaving without you," Manning drawled, running his fingers through his white-blond hair. "We need to get these fuckers locked up where they can't hurt nobody."

"I'll keep my comm. in, Cap. Lemme know when you want us to come back and get you." Clint said. 

Steve nodded again. "Alright." He and Sam left the two remaining agents alone, their bickering about coffee fading into quiet as the two heroes walked further and further away.

They hallway was dimly lit and dank, and the paint was peeling on the walls that were made of wood. There were the two staircases behind them, two doors on the left and one door on the right, and a large bookcase at the end of the hall riddled with bullets from the shoot out earlier. Steve and Sam took the first door on the left and poked around. It was an old science lab. There was blood on the floor from a foot soldier Steve had had to shoot. Forrest was in there. She gave them a little wave of her hand and then held up some papers.

"Mostly stuff about robotics," she reported. "Lots of boring stuff."

"You can go ahead and leave with Hill and the prisoners, we'll take over from here," Steve told her, and she gave a sharp nod and left with the documents.

After they'd thoroughly looked through the second and third rooms and heard the vehicles being loaded and then driven away, Sam stopped Steve with a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, man, I've got to ask. How are you doing? You look exhausted." His lovely brown eyes were filled with concern.

Steve's shoulders sagged under his hand. "I'm just tired. Worried. A little stressed."

"I hear you when you wake up from the nightmares, Steve," Sam mentioned quietly.

Steve paused. "You do?"

"I've got nightmares of my own that keep me up sometimes. I'm awake when you sit up in bed gasping." He paused. "If you ever need to talk about something I'm here, okay?"

"Sam-"

"No, hear me out. I work with veterans, I know about PTSD. It's not unexpected that you're having nightmares. You've been through hell, Steve. World War II, and your best friend's death, and then that plane crash, and then waking up here with most of your other friends suddenly dead, and then New York, and finally this. It's a wonder you're still standing. I sure as hell wouldn't be." Sam was gentle. "It doesn't even have to be me you talk to. Just talk to somebody. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to get you to talk to a therapist. I don't know if it helped at all or if it didn't, or if you even went to one." He bit his lip. "I'm worried about you."

Steve looked down at the ground and smiled tightly. "To be honest with you, I'm a little worried about me, too."

After a moment of silence, they went back and each took a staircase. They looked through the rooms on the top floor as thoroughly as they could, and found nothing useful. There were some documents with robotic tech-y stuff on them that Steve didn't quite understand. He photographed them with his cell phone and sent the pictures to Stark, who replied moments later with, "i didn't kno u knew how 2 text!! good job old man."

They ended up back where they'd started an hour later. Steve rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Sorry I took so much of your time with this."

"It's cool. Not like I had anything better to do anyway." Sam stretched and looked around. "Hey," he said, his eyes returning to the bookcase, "do you think they had anything good?"

Steve waved his hand, as if to say, "Lead the way." He followed Sam to the bookshelf. Sam pulled off a book and glanced at the spine. "Boring, boring," he took more books off and looked at their spines, "boring, boring, oh, I read that one in high school, boring, boring- what the hell?!"

One of the books was stuck, but not in a way that made sense. When Sam pulled on it to take it from the shelf, it stayed there. Steve looked up with a start. He grasped the book and yanked it to the side instead of outward, and there was a loud click, and the bookcase swung to the side revealing a thick, metal door with a bar across it.

Steve and Sam exchanged a look.

Steve lifted the metal bar with a bit of effort and then heaved the door open, revealing a small room with thick walls and another door directly across from them. Steve adjusted his grip on his gun, as did Sam. The two walked forward cautiously, and then all of a sudden the butt of a gun slammed into the back of Sam's head and he fell forward with a grunt. Steve caught him before he could hit the ground and fired his gun in the direction of the attack, and when he looked up he saw a Hydra foot soldier pressing his hand on his bleeding side and  _closing the door_.

Steve leapt to his feet (not letting himself even wonder how they'd missed the foot soldier because there wasn't time to wonder about that) and threw himself at the door but it was too late, the door was shut and he heard the bar slide down. Some sort of gas was being pumped through an air vent at the top of the wall to Steve's right, but it was too high for him to reach to try to cover it with his jacket. He wrapped his jacket around his face instead and tried not to panic or breath in the gas. He felt lightheaded.

Not good. Not good at all.

Steve threw himself at the door again, and it dented, but it was too thick and he was feeling weak and he didn't have his shield. He ran to the other side of the room and tried to open that door, but someone on the other side was holding it closed, and  _damn_  the gas must be bad if somebody normal was preventing Captain America from opening a door.

Steve's last conscious thought, after throwing himself at the door over and over and over and sliding down the wall in defeat, was that he wished he had his shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to Detroit, but my teacher talks about it sometimes and I figured it would be an okay place to put an "abandoned" building full of Hydra goons. If anyone knows better please tell me and I'll change it. 
> 
> And for the Winter Soldier- think about it. He's an assassin, yes, but he's also owned by Hydra. He can stitch up a wound and knows when he has a concussion or whatever, he can kill with the best of them, he can set broken bones, he knows the names of weapons, he can tell how much a person weighs and how tall they are and their age and how dangerous they are. But they (Hydra) wanted him dependent on them. He has never had to eat or drink or sleep or relieve himself before in what limited memory he has of his life. He doesn't know many words- they only gave him words he needed. He's been dehumanized so much. It's been a little bit more than a month. He's starving, he doesn't sleep unless he falls unconscious, and even then he's woken by nightmares. Starvation leads to headaches, pain, and [after two weeks specifically](http://www.geekosystem.com/hunger-strike-effects/) you start getting dizzy and exhausted and have trouble standing up. It's harder to move, you shake a little more.  
> The Soldier is much more fucked up than he thinks he is. Don't you love unreliable narrators?  
> I'll talk about all this more in the next couple chapters.
> 
> Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent names were selected at random.
> 
> And yeah, they still haven't found Steve's shield yet. More on that later.
> 
> The thing Barton took out of his ear when he put in the comm. Hill gave him was one of his hearing aids. And the reason he got a comm. different from everyone else's was because his was modified to work as a comm. and a hearing aid. This will probably be mentioned next chapter.
> 
> Gun information/names from [here](http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Captain_America:_The_Winter_Soldier).


	4. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: the winter soldier vaguely remembers being waterboarded and has a nightmare about electroshock therapy

  **the winter soldier**

The Soldier's chest heaves as his eyelids flutter open and he bolts upwards. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead and beyond the terror he's vaguely aware that both of his arms are functioning: they're supporting his torso as he's sitting up. The sling is ripped, he must have wrenched it in two.

In the hallucination he had been strapped to the Chair again, and they shocked him, over and over they shocked him, until blood seeped from his nose and eyes and mouth and he was choking on it and he couldn't scream anymore. He can still taste the copper tang of his own blood. The Soldier rubs at his cracked lips with his weak hand and when his hand comes back bloodless he knows he is back in reality. Blinking rapidly, he assesses his surroundings. His guns are two meters from him, and he distinctly remembers watching Steve from the window they rested under. Had he moved while his eyes were closed?

Steve. He'd been watching Steve.

He rises on shaky legs and moves slowly to the window, making sure to put himself in a position so that he can see out of it but it would be difficult for a sniper to get him. The parking lot in front of the building Steve and the rest had gone into earlier is empty. Both vehicles are gone. The Soldier tries to suppress panic and wonders how long his eyes were closed.

A brief glance at the sky lets him know it couldn't have been more than an two hours.

The Soldier notices movement out of the corner of his eye and grabs his M4A1, raising it to his face as he looks out the window at the people on the ground. There is an armed male entering the driver's side of a van (an armored van, if how low it sits is enough of an indicator) towards the very end of the parking lot (not empty after all; the Soldier hadn't noticed, he has become  _weak_ ), and the back doors of the van are open, revealing a stretcher with a covered body inside and two whitecoats (he cannot tell if they are technicians or doctors or something else) standing to its left. Two armed males (he decides to call them agents, because they are trained and possible threats) are trying to fit a second stretcher inside, and the body on it is larger than the body on the other stretcher, but both, as far as the Soldier can tell with the white sheets on them, appear to be male. A whitecoat climbs in the passenger side of the van while the remaining whitecoat and two agents oversee the moving of the second stretcher. One of the two agents is pressing a blood soaked cloth to his side and complaining. He is pale and sweaty and the Soldier knows that he is vulnerable to death by blood loss.

He watches as one of the agents loses his grip on the stretcher and it slips, as does the sheet, revealing a blond, white male. The whitecoat turns red and yells something, but the Soldier doesn't hear it because that's  _Steve_. These people have Steve.

_New mission objective: Save Steve. Status: Incomplete. Previous mission status: Temporarily inactive, incomplete_

He opens the window carefully and quietly, and no one on the ground notices. He fires with careful precision at the back right tire of the van, and his second bullet is aimed at the uninjured agent, who dies instantly. Now he has their attention. The whitecoat at the back of the van finds enough strength to help two agents shove the stretcher carrying Steve into the van as the remaining overseeing agent fires in the direction the bullets came from. None of the shots from the agent come anywhere close to where the Soldier is hiding, so he shoots again, killing the agent. The two agents who had been loading the stretcher pull a spare tire from inside the van, and the Soldier would have shot it if the agent who got out of the driver's side hadn't spotted him.

The agent has something resembling an M4A1 with what looks like M203 grenade launcher modification and the Soldier grabs his own gun and bolts towards the door to get as far from the area of explosion as he can. He throws himself down the stairs because it's faster than trying to run and curls himself into a tight ball when the grenade explodes.

* * *

**sam wilson**

****Sam woke up and saw white, which he took to mean that he was dead and in Heaven, until his slightly panicked inhale brought a bit of fabric into his mouth and he realized he was just covered in a white sheet.

_Which they do to dead people_ , he thought, and panicked a bit more for a second because  _am I a zombie?!_

But then he heard the arguing and focused on that instead. The issue of whether or not he was undead could wait. 

"If the fucking police find us because of your fucking grenade, I swear to god-"

"Calm the fuck down.

"Why?!"

"Look. I had to make sure the guy was dead."

What guy?

The same speaker continued. "Or at least incapacitated while we changed the tire."

"Who the hell was he, anyway? Or she?"

"Dunno. Didn't start shooting at us until we were loading the Captain in the van, though. Watched us the whole damn time but didn't attack 'til we were already about to be on our way. I didn't actually see the guy. Or girl. I just looked at wounds in Jerry and picked a building. When there wasn't any more shooting I figured I'd made the right decision."

Van? Captain?

Sam was suddenly aware of the sound of tires on road and the sensation of movement. The breath of those around him seemed overwhelmingly loud in his ears, and he knew instinctively that by "Captain" they meant Steve. These weren't friendlies, and Sam was willing to bet that they were Hydra, which meant it would be harder to fight them off.

The mystery shooter in the building that they'd been discussing was Barton, or someone else on their side, Sam hoped. It could have just been someone else who wanted to take advantage of unconscious, vulnerable Captain America (he refused to consider that Steve was dead), but Sam decided it would be best for his morale to believe that it was someone ex-S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Who's the black guy?" asked somebody, and Sam tried not to let his breath hitch. He paid very close attention; this was his fate that was about to be determined.

"I heard the Captain call him 'Sam'. Probably some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

"Think he knows anything? If we get some good intel we might get a promotion."

Sam went cold all over.

"I doubt it, but it wouldn't hurt to ask him."

"'Ask' him."

"Right. 'Nicely'."

"Hey, we might be able to use him to get the Captain to cooperate more."

"The Captain is going to be sedated most of the time, so that won't be necessary, but we'll keep it in mind," a more professional voice said snobbishly.

"Hey, I think he's awake!"

Sam tensed as somebody pulled the white sheet back to look at his face and then launched himself up at the guy with swinging fists and bared teeth. He was outnumbered, and they pinned him back down and he closed his eyes when he was the butt of a rifle start to come toward him.

Sam prayed in his last moments of consciousness that Barton would find them soon.

* * *

**the winter soldier**  

When the Soldier opens his eyes again he is in pain. This is not unusual, so he dismisses the sensation and throws his strong arm up to dislodge a chunk of concrete covering him. He crawls out of the rubble around him and then observes his surroundings. A few walls still standing. Much of the front of the building is gone. The building across the street with the parking lot is intact. The parking lot itself is empty. His M4A1 is beside him, but it has been damaged enough to be unusable.

_(Just like him.)_

_(NO)_

He takes it with him anyway. He is incapable of leaving fingerprints, but he needs to be sure that it is disposed of properly in case of something else on it that could identify him, though he is not clear on what that "something else" might be.

The Soldier strides quickly to the building across the street. The Target

_(Mission objective: Save Steve)_

had been in there before his eyes closed the first time, and it was possible that that was where he had been captured. There could be a clue as to where they went inside, and if there is he's going to find it.

No one stops him from entering the building, but he had not expected anyone. It is empty. There are some papers in some of the downstairs rooms, but after rifling through them, what little he understands he deems unimportant. The Hydra logo on one of the papers makes him jerk to a halt, but he continues on with no further incident. Neither the upstairs nor the downstairs yield anything of interest and the Soldier is overcome with the desire to kick over one of the chairs. This, he knows, is anger. He restrains himself. It is energy he cannot afford to lose.

There are two bookshelves separated at the end of the downstairs hall and the Soldier opens the large door visible behind them with a bit of difficulty. He enters another room with another door and opens that one, too. There is a staircase leading to what he is sure is a basement. The signs of life here are more recent than both upstairs floors and the Soldier knows if there's anything to be found, it will be here.

And it is. There's a map of the United States of America taped to the wall. The Soldier wonders briefly if Bucky Barnes had been a patriot

_("You a patriot, Soldier?" asks one of the Soldier's superiors, a man with dark hair and a short beard._

_"It is not." The doctor answers for him. He is cleaning some sort of sharp implement and the Soldier feels someone wipe his bloody chest with a towel._

_"I didn't ask you, I asked him. Soldier, you a patriot or not?"_

_The Soldier does not know this word. He says so and waits for a reprimand for not knowing._

_There is no reprimand. The man explains instead. "A patriot is a guy who is proud of his country and is very loyal to it." He repeats his question._

_"A weapon does not feel pride. A weapon has no country. The Winter Soldier is loyal to none but Hydra." The words fall out of the Soldier's mouth automatically. A small part of him he does not recognize whispers that the Winter Soldier's country is Russia, he belongs to Russia, but he crushes this bad voice because to listen to it would mean that he is disloyal and deserving of more punishment. And maybe the fact that this voice even exists means that he_  does  _deserve more punishment, but the doctor is busy cleaning up after this most recent punishment and has more important things to do than bother with a minor error the Soldier can deal with himself._

_The doctor puts down his implement to stroke the Soldier's hair briefly, and the Soldier has to remind himself of what he has just said: A weapon does not feel pride. "I told you," says the doctor to the other man._

_The man's lips turn down, but his eyebrows raise, and his gaze communicates approval. "You've really done a number on him, Doc. He didn't even have to think about it."_

_"Of course not." The doctor snorts and returns to his cleaning. "The asset, a patriot. As if.")_

before ripping the map off the wall for closer examination. There are four marked locations, including where he is now; Hydra bases.

There is one in a state called Washington, one in a state called New York, one in a state called Michigan, and one in a state called Georgia. He is in the one in Michigan. The closest is the one in New York, and the shudder that comes on him when he thinks of New York makes him believe that that it where they're taking the Target. He does not know if the familiar feeling that leaves him shaking with fear is from the Chair or from the childhood in Brooklyn he read about or both, but he holds onto himself with his arms crossed across his chest until the shaking stops. The Soldier rolls up the map and puts it in the front of his jacket. He spots the weapons locker and raids it for the most powerful guns and six grenades.

As the Soldier climbs the stairs to leave, he impulsively takes the pin out of one of the grenades and drops it down into the basement. He hurries up the stairs and closes the door just as it explodes. The highest floor takes two grenades to destroy, but the ground floor only takes one, and the Soldier's lips curl up slightly when the whole base is reduced to rubble. He thinks he's smiling (though he doubts that it is the same sort of smile that the video in the Captain America exhibit contained).

He walks to the vehicle he arrived in and starts it up. He is going to New York. He has a hunch that's where they're taking the Target; it's closest and they might have the Chair there.

The Soldier hears the soft crunch of the steering wheel being crushed under his strong hand from the seething determination that settles all over him. He will not let them use the Chair on Steve. He will find them and kill them first. Steve will never go in the Chair. Never. 

* * *

  **clint barton**

Manning ended his tale with a flourish of his wrist. The table roared with laughter. Even Hill was chuckling, something that was refreshing to see. Clint tried to calm down enough to call for the waiter and order another beer. The team was relaxing and Manning was telling stories in that outrageous southern drawl of his that would set Manley's teeth on edge if he was here instead of the hospital.  

Rogers and Wilson hadn't said anything for a while, and Clint was tempted to just take his comm. out and put his hearing aid back in, but any time now they should say, "Hey, Barton, can you come pick us up?" or something like that, and Clint didn't want to miss it.

"Has the Captain said anything to you?" Hill asked Clint after a while.

"Nah, nothing. Not a peep."

"Maybe they're fucking and took out their comms." Manning said with mock-seriousness.

Kang snorted into her drink. "America's golden boy a gay man? Unlikely."

"He could be bi," suggested Forrest.

"Bill O'Reilly would have kittens."

"Finally, a reason to watch Fox News!" Kang grinned, and then Manning started a raunchy story of a Cap-look-alike he had sex with in a barn. 

An hour without Rogers and Wilson turned into two, and it got later and later, and when Kang wanted to turn in and Hill started offering to drop the agents off wherever they liked, Clint requested permission to take one of the cars and go back to the base to look for the good Captain and his friend. He didn't mind the drive.

He swore when he saw the two remains of the Hydra base and the building across the street. He leapt from the car and slammed the door behind him, stalking up to the rubble of the base. "Fuck. Fuck. What the actual- Jesus. Jesus Christ." He swore some more and kicked at a chunk of concrete, which made him swear again because all it did was hurt his foot.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Hill.

"Barton," was all she managed to say in greeting before he cut her off.

"It's gone," he hissed angrily.

"What's gone?" Alarm seeped into her voice.

"The base. The fucking Hydra base is in pieces, along with an empty building that had been across the street. No sign of Cap or Falcon."

Stunned silence on the other end.

"Get Stark here. Now." Clint demanded. "I'm calling Nat." He hung up and then didn't move for a few moments, sharp eyes searching for some sort of tracks that tires would leave as they peeled away too fast, but the asphalt revealed nothing.

He dialed the number Natasha had been using last and hoped that she'd pick up.

She did. "привет," she greeted softly.

"The Captain is missing. So is the Falcon." He informed her, too upset to try saying it in Russian.

"где?" she demanded.

"Detroit." He relayed the exact street address. 

"шесть часо," she said, and then she hung up. He wondered why she was so close by.

Clint sent a text to Hill telling her that Nat would arrive in six hours. Hill replied that Stark would be there in seven hours or less.

Clint shoved his phone deep in his pocket and swore again.

"Rogers!" He yelled, in case he was in the rubble somewhere. "You out there?" No response, just quiet. "Wilson! Rogers! Cap, if you're playing hide and seek, it isn't funny!"

 

* * *

  **sam wilson**

Sam really hated his luck sometimes. Here he was, handcuffed to a chair in an almost empty room in a Hydra base, blood dripping down his face and chest. The man Sam had dubbed "Thing One" wiped his bloodstained knuckles with a white cloth. "Thing Two" was in the hallway. Maybe he was on coffee break.

"You're a strong one," Thing One muttered, and he gave Sam a feral grin. "Not that strong, though. I'll get you yet."

"I already told you, I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D. I don't know who the new director is. I don't know their plans." Sam wheezed, trying not to let the pain he was feeling show on his face. He wasn't sure it was working. His left eye was swelling shut, which couldn't be good. "What've you done with Steve?"

"And  _I_  already told  _you_ , I'm just a grunt. The doctors don't let me anywhere near their toys. They've got others to guard them. I'm all yours." Thing One discarded his rag.

"Aww, that's sweet. Last time someone said 'I'm all yours' I got laid." Sam quipped. He blinked at some of the blood leaking from a cut above his eye. 

"Sorry, bud, I don't roll that way." Thing One cracked his knuckles. "Ready to play again?"

"You only gave me a two minute break this time!" Sam complained to stall him. He clamped the fear down deep in an iron box inside his heart that he'd built when Riley died.

"Are you ready or not?" 

"If I say no, will you give me another minute?"

Thing One punched him in the stomach. Sam doubled over, or, rather, he leaned his head down a bit. The handcuffs kept him from moving that much.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," he wheezed, and then steeled himself for the next blow.

* * *

   **natalia alianovna romanova**

"Clint." She kept her voice calm, clipped, professional, emotionless. 

He didn't turn to look at her. "Natasha." He sounded frustrated, angry, and tired, but that wasn't anything she hadn't already known. His tense shoulders and clenched fists gave that away when she walked up.

"I've switched back to Natalia," she almost said, but Natalia wasn't who Clint needed. He needed Natasha Romanov, his Nat, and she hadn't forgotten how to be that person. Besides, Natasha wasn't too different from Natalia and the transition was slight and easy. "Where's Stark?" she asked.

Clint made a small hand gesture at the rubble in front of him. "He got here an hour before you did. He's doing something with a scanner, looking for bodies or remaining explosives. The building behind you didn't have either. We think it was a grenade."

Natasha smoothed her sundress out with her hands and took a seat next to him. They were silent there on the curb for a few moments more. Clint turned his head to look at her.

"Blonde?" He murmured, instead of asking her where she'd been (which she appreciated).

"Now we match."

Clint snorted.

They both watched as Iron Man hovered into view, clicking off some sort of beam and then waving at them.

"What a nerd." Clint remarked. 

Iron Man touched down in front of them and lifted up his face mask to reveal a grinning Stark. "No corpses!" He declared.

"That's good."

"Yeah. No explosives either. Found this, though, but I bet you already knew about that." Stark held up a charred folder with the Hydra symbol emblazoned on the front in a bold red. 

"We raided this place earlier and Rogers and Wilson stayed behind when we finished. Cap wanted another look around. You think they found something and got captured?" Clint frowned. "Who could they have found who could take Captain America captive?"

"The Winter Soldier," Stark suggested.

"The Winter Soldier?" Clint repeated incredulously.

"He did kick Steve's ass in D.C." Natasha pointed out, remembering the brutal fighting. 

"That's because the Cap was distracted by trying to make his friend remember him."

"No, before that, when Wilson and I were with him on the Causeway. I was the only one who could actually go toe to toe with him. Steve could only defend himself. Barely got any hits in. The Winter Soldier was kicking his ass until Steve recognized him."

"So, the Winter Soldier was hidden in the base, and kidnapped them." Stark paused. "Or did he follow you here and waited until it was Rogers and Wilson by themselves to make his move?"

"He didn't follow us. I would've noticed." Clint said.

"Maybe, maybe not. He's the Winter Soldier. He knows how to keep himself hidden. He's a ghost story, remember?" Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"I would've noticed." Clint repeated insistently.

"Natasha, you're a Russian super-assassin, you know how he thinks. Where's he headed?" Stark gazed at her with curiosity.

"I don't know how the Winter Soldier thinks," Natasha said, controlling her voice, making it casual. Her Red Room days were a bit of a touchy subject, and she wasn't very appreciative of the comparison between her and the puppet-like killing machine Hydra and the Red Room had turned Bucky Barnes into. "I don't know if he thinks at all. He could be anywhere. It depends on if he's injured, what vehicle he's driving, whether or not he killed Sam, what his goals are, how much he's remembered, if he's working for Hydra or if he's on his own."

"Capsicle said he pulled him out of the Potomac."

"Yeah, after he beat him half to death."

"So we should be prepared for the worst?"

"I'll have J.A.R.V.I.S. watch the CCTV cameras. Looks like there are none here," Stark paused, and he cocked his head to the side like he was listening to somebody. "Yep, J.A.R.V.' says none in the area that could get us a view of what happened here. I'll have him do a search for Wilson's pretty face and Cap's ugly mug, see if anything turns up."

"And until then?"

"We wait." Stark paused. "J.A.R.V.' says there's a good sushi place nearby, if anyone's hungry."

* * *

**the winter soldier**

The Soldier stops only twice over the course of the next twelve hours. He uses the bathroom, obtains more bottled water, and ends up switching to a different vehicle. His eyes almost close for too long several times but the honking of cars behind him always jolts them back open. He always regains control of the vehicle before any damage can be done. He scratches at his face or weak arm every hour or two, because the small, stinging pain makes him feel a bit more alert.

The map stays unrolled in the seat beside him so he can look down at it when he needs to, and he often needs to. 

He leaves his vehicle behind a small block of a building he believes is used for storage. It is concrete, one floor high, and just wide enough for his vehicle to hide behind without being seen by anyone in the actual Hydra base. If they walked over to retrieve something from the storage unit, they still wouldn't see the vehicle, unless they ventured behind the unit for some reason. He doubts that they will. He inspected it before he parked; there is nothing of interest.

There is a patrol coming his way. The guards do not see him, they are just making their rounds. The number of them in a group (four per group, two groups that he can see) and at the doors of the base (it looks like five, but there are certainly more inside) suggest that the Soldier has made the right decision to come here instead of one of the other bases. Now he has another decision to make. Infiltrate the base as stealthily as he can and search for Steve or interrogate the patrol for Steve's location? Hydra will certainly notice when the patrol doesn't return, but  _when_  will they notice? Is it enough time for the Soldier to get Steve out? The base has two visible floors: one at ground level and one above that. Will they be holding Steve on one of those levels, or is there a basement he doesn't know about?

The patrol is closer now. In less than a minute they'll be passing the storage unit. He makes a decision. 

He steps out rapidly and has snapped one of their necks before they can even register that he's there. By the time they have their guns up he has snapped the neck of the second one and shoved the third into the concrete wall. The fourth is too slow, and the Soldier yanks the gun out of his hand before he can pull the trigger. He discards the gun and slams his strong elbow down on the guard's collarbone, feeling it shatter as his weak hand covers the guard's mouth to muffle his shriek. The Soldier pivots his foot and lets go when the guard collapses on the ground and kicks the third guard in the chest, and with a wheeze he bounces right back onto the concrete wall where the Soldier had shoved him before. The Soldier brings the foot he'd kicked with down on the fourth guard's neck and hears it snap. The third guard regains his breath and opens his mouth; probably to yell for back up. The Soldier doesn't let him. He shoves his strong index finger into the guard's mouth, and the guard, confused and afraid, reflexively tries to bite his mouth shut. When the Soldier gets his strong thumb in there, too, and props his mouth open wider the guard starts to panic and make strange noises. The Soldier ignores him. He calmly reaches in the guard's mouth with his weak hand and pokes around until he finds what he's looking for: a cyanide-filled false tooth. He gives it a good yank, but his fingers slip off it. Frustrated, he switches tactics; using his strong fingers to yank the tooth out and his weak fingers to prop the guard's mouth open. It works, and he drops the tooth on the ground and crushes it beneath his boot.

The Soldier vaguely recalls someone else using the cyanide-tooth method to die, but he can't remember who. He files it away for later and focuses on the trembling guard.

All of his fingers are out of the guard's mouth now, and his strong hand covers the guard's mouth to keep him from making noise. The weak hand, because it feels more, is roaming the guard's body, looking for weapons or things of use. The weapons he finds he drops on top of the corpses of the other guards. When he has disarmed the guard he whispers, "I will take my hand off your mouth and you will answer my questions." His words come out quiet and hoarse, scratching at his throat before they pass through his lips.

The guard nods frantically as much as he can with the Soldier holding him so tightly.

The Soldier asks, "Where is Steve?" and removes his strong hand. 

The guard swallows nervously. "I-I-I don't know a Steve." 

"Captain America," the Soldier spits out from between gritted teeth. " _Where?_ "

"Oh! O-oh. Second floor. Room t-two. I think. They might've moved him." The guard licks his lips.

The Soldier grips the guard's shirt with his strong hand and lifts him, feeling him wince as his back scrapes on the concrete wall. "You're lying."

"No! No! I promise. The doctors are prepping him for something. Last I heard they were keeping him in room two on the second floor. Swear to God." A tear rolls down the guard's cheek. "Please let me go. I'll do whatever you want. Room two on the second floor. I promise I'm telling the truth. Please."

The Soldier believes him. The guard is no use to him now so he snaps his neck and drags all four bodies behind the storage unit, piling them all horizontally on top of each other neatly in the small space between his vehicle and the concrete building. He puts the weapons in his vehicle, and out of the duffel bag he takes his body armor. 

It has been long dry since he walked out of the water in it and changed from it to civilian clothes. The Soldier knows the bulletproof material parts of it are made out of will be useful. He strips out of his civilian clothes and dons his uniform as quickly as he can, lips twitching into a frown when he feels that it is loose. It was made specifically for him. It has not changed, so he must be the one that has. He is thinner. The straps and belts on the armor make necessary adjustments easy. Some things are still loose, like his sleeve, but they won't hinder him. 

He arms himself ("the expression is 'armed to the teeth'", he hears someone say in the corner of his mind). He has an M4A1 and knives in all his sheathes plus one per boot. His other guns, the three pistols and the Skorpion, are all where they belong. He straps on his face mask with some difficulty; it is meant to be put on and removed by the handler, not the wearer. He doesn't believe he'll be able to get it off. Steve or one of his comrades will have to do it. He takes a jacket from the largest dead guard and puts it on. The zipper on the front won't go up all the way so he doesn't force it, because all he really needs the jacket for is to cover his strong arm. The mask and the jacket are more for hiding his identity than anything else.

_Mission objective: Save Steve_

He is not going in through the front doors. Too many guards. He could take them, obviously, but he needs to conserve energy to carry Steve out (because the only way they're keeping him captive- "prepping him"- is by drugging him or threatening the man without wings, and the Soldier believes that Steve would just free the man without wings so they could fight off their attackers together). He also needs to hurry. He can imagine what they're prepping Steve for and he doesn't like it. Not at all. 

The first floor windows are all barred and the curtains inside are closed, but he isn't interested in the first floor. It's the second floor he needs to get into, and those windows are barred with closed curtains, too. The metal isn't what Steve's shield is made out of, he thinks (had Bucky Barnes ever been told that Steve's shield's metal is rare?), so the bars shouldn't be a problem.

He sneaks silently around to the back of the building. There is a whitecoat at a back door with some sort of white stick in her mouth. He is not in her line of sight. The acrid smoke coming from the glowing embers at the end triggers something in his mind and he freezes  

_(The Soldier finished the mission without a hitch. He and three men stand at the corner of the empty street waiting for the extraction vehicle, their breath misting around them. The men stomp their feet, shove their hands in their pockets, and complain about the bitter cold. The Soldier does not speak or complain, despite the other men having thicker coats than he. He is lucky that his strong arm doesn't give him frostbite. Lucky that his masters and his doctors and his technicians saw fit to give the arm the tech to keep it from burning his skin with its cold, cold metal. He is still. His only movement is of his chest to inhale and exhale and of his eyelids to blink away the softly falling snow that collects in his lashes._

  
_One of the men pulls a small pink box labeled "Собрание" out of a pocket of his furry winter coat. He takes a white stick with a_ _yellow end out of the box and gives it to the man next to him, who puts it in his mouth. The man with the box puts one in his own mouth and offers one to the third man, who shakes his head to decline. The man with the box puts it back in his coat and retrieves a lighter. He flicks it open, and then closes it, looking like he has an idea. He snaps his fingers to get the Soldier's attention because he doesn't know the Soldier is already watching._

_"Catch," he barks in Russian, and tosses the lighter to the Soldier, who does so deftly. The man crooks his finger in a beckoning gesture. "Come here."_

_The two other men inhale sharply with surprise. The Soldier knows that they know what he has done. They fear him. They must not realize that he belongs to their superiors and therefore considers them to be above him. He approaches._

_"He isn't going to hurt you, you dumbasses. You're not his targets. Here," he is addressing the Soldier again and pointing to the stick in his mouth, "light this."_

_The Soldier does._

_The man inhales with an upturn of his lips and then blows a puff of smoke into the Soldier's face, and his smile becomes more pronounced when the Soldier does not react._

_"L-light mine, too," stammers the other man with the unlit stick in his mouth and the weak display of false confidence. The Soldier does._

_The four of them stand in silence for a few moments more. The three men shift around a bit and stomp at the sidewalk that is slowly being covered in white snow, and the two with sticks puff out breaths full of smoke. The Soldier hears the vehicle approaching in the distance, but he believes that none of the others hear. None of them say anything about it._

_"He's still got your lighter," whispers the man without a stick in heavily accented English. He thinks the Soldier only knows Russian and therefore cannot understand him._

_The man, the one with the box, blinks. "Maybe it's because he wants a cig. You want a cigarette, comrade?" He is speaking English, too, now, though his accent is better than the other man's._

_The Soldier stares blankly. Is that the name of some sort of punishment for not returning the lighter?_

_"I asked you a question." The man says, voice deepening ominously._

_"I don't think he speaks En-"_

_"I do not know that word." The Soldier informs in English, interrupting the one with false confidence._

_"What word?"_

_"'Cigarette'." The word is strange on his tongue._

_The man laughs. He says the word in Russian. "сигарета?"_

_The Soldier still does not know the word. He tells this to the man, who laughs again and takes out the little pink box and a white stick from it. One of the men mentions that he hears the vehicle._

_"Here. This is сигарета; the cigarette." He starts speaking Russian again. "You put it in your mouth and light it."_

_The Soldier hears the van pull around the corner. He places the cigarette in between his lips and hears someone jump out of the vehicle. Out of the corner of his eye he sees it is a whitecoat. He brings up the lighter, only to jolt to a halt when the whitecoat yell in harsh Russian._

_"Stop! Stop, Soldier!"_

_He is a doctor. The Soldier recognizes his voice and ceases his movement. Another man steps out of the passenger's side and strolls over casually while his white-wearing counterpart runs frantically. The three men waiting with the Soldier watch with curiosity and alarm._

_The doctor snatches the lighter from the Soldier's hand and hisses, "Get that out of your mouth."_

_The Soldier takes the cigarette out with his weak fingers._

_"What were you thinking?! A cigarette?!" The doctor yells at the Soldier. He turns and commands the man from the vehicle, who has caught up by now, "Strike him."_

_The man from the vehicle backhands the Soldier with boredom plastered all over his meaty face. The Soldier takes the hit blankly and does not look back at the doctor when his face is turned away by the force of the blow._

_"Hey!" protests the man who'd given the Soldier the cigarette. "'The fuck are you doing?!"_

_"I should ask the same of you!" The doctor jabs a bony finger at the man's chest. "Do you have a brain at all?! Letting the asset stray like this?! I was aware it's being kept on a bit of a loose leash, but not_  this  _loose! It would be very inconvenient if the asset became reliant on this disgusting tobacco. You should have kept a closer eye on it."_

_The man with the box opens his mouth to protest, but the man who didn't have a cigarette grabs his shoulder as a warning._

_"And you." The doctor rounds on the Soldier again. "We are very disappointed."_

_Disappointed. He's disappointed them. He feels numb. He knows what comes next. He knows what he deserves for disappointing them. He almost looks forward to it. He shouldn't be disappointing them. He can't let it happen again, whatever it is he's done. He thought he'd been following orders. The cigarettes must have been a test. A test he failed._

_"You will be disciplined for this after your mission report. Igor, take the asset to the van. You three come as well. We're leaving."_

_The man from the vehicle, Igor, jabs his gun in between the Soldier's shoulder blades briefly. "Get moving."_

_The Soldier does.)_

and drops his gun. The splitting headache that accompanies the memory of the name of the stick (a cigarette, it's a cigarette) is enough to make him clutch at his head, as if pressure would make the vision and the pain stop. When he lets go and looks up, the woman is gone, and her crushed cigarette on the ground is what lets the Soldier know that she wasn't a hallucination.

The Soldier waits to make sure that she is not returning before picking up his gun, striding to a barred window, and planting his foot on the windowsill. He can just reach the top of the window, and he pulls himself as high as he can before making a jump up to the next windowsill. He pulls himself up there, too, and then uses his strong arm to wrench off three bars. He tucks them underneath his strong arm.

His weak hand pulls a knife from his boot, and he shoves it in the bottom crack of the window and wiggles it until it moves the latch. He quietly opens the window, pushes aside the cream-colored curtains, and eases himself inside the room. It is small, with a pale red carpet, and it is empty of threats or weapons. The Soldier holds his gun close to his chest and listens at the door for movement in the halls.

Two men walk by, speaking in German vulgarly of women. Their steps are heavy and they are wearing boots. Most likely armed guards. The Soldier waits for them to pass before opening the door slightly and peering through the crack.

The hallway is empty. He can hear quiet clicking noises coming from a room down the hall and the murmur of people talking. He slowly steps out of the room and turns to the green panel next to the door with words on it- "Room Five"- and makes a plan.

He goes back inside the room and opens the window, climbs out, and then tears the rest of the bars from the window. When he retrieves Steve they will have to make a quick escape, and jumping out the window will be easier with the metal bars gone.

The Soldier stalks through the hall quietly, his gun raised and his footsteps silent. The door should be on the left (room five- an odd number- was on the right), but before he can go much further a voice stops him.

"Stand down, puppet." 

He halts abruptly. The words were Russian- "Отбой, марионетка."- and they're a command, a familiar command, a command that makes his brain go white and blank, and he numbly lowers his gun. He doesn't turn around when a hand softly touches his shoulder. This is a handler's command, and the handler who uses it now is Lukin, Aleksander Lukin. The Soldier doesn't know how he knows that. He doesn't remember Lukin's face.

Old, wrinkled hands touch soothingly at his neck, linger for a moment there, and then slowly remove the Soldier's mask. It drops to the floor with a clatter.

Then Lukin comes in front of him and he  _does_  remember his face. They're both in a red room- or, no, the room isn't physically red, it is  _Red,_  and Lukin is giving him an assignment, but he can't remember what the assignment is or who else is there, just Lukin and the authority he commands.

_(The handler is here. He doesn't have to think anymore.)_

_(NO NO NO THERE'S SOMETHING IMPORTANT-)_

_(The handler is here now. The handler is here now.)_

His head feels like it's full of static. He can barely think.

"Mission report," Lukin commands, still in Russian, and the Soldier stops studying the lines of his wrinkled face and the grey hairs atop his head and stands a little straighter.

"Mission status incomplete," the Soldier says hoarsely in  _(the mother tongue)_  Russian, but that's all he knows to say, because he doesn't know what his mission is.

"What's your mission?" Lukin asks with a raised eyebrow.

"I-"

When he doesn't say anything else, Lukin glares. "I asked you a question." 

"I don't know." 

Lukin reaches out to strike him. No, not to strike him, to only touch him. The general's hand cups the Soldier's jaw. "You have not been very obedient recently. You failed your mission. I'm disappointed." His gentle grip becomes tight and painful and his fingernails cut into the Soldier's skin. " _Very_  disappointed."

The Soldier suppresses panic. He's disappointed him. His handler. He's failed his handler, he's in trouble now, he's going to be disciplined, he deserves it, he's going to hurt, he's going to hurt a lot.

_(GET AWAY GET AWAY GET TO STE-)_

"Do you know who I am?" Lukin inquires.

The Soldier nods.

"Who am I?"

"General Aleksander Luk-"

"Who am I  _to you?_ " He interrupts sharply. His voice is quiet and dangerous. 

"The handler."

Lukin smiles, and his grip on the Soldier's face loosens. "Yes. That's good. You've been very bad, sneaking in here like this. You will be disciplined very harshly, you understand?"

The Soldier can't breathe. He nods.

"But," his handler continues, "if you can prove yourself, prove your  _loyalty_ , I may be inclined to forgive you sooner. Wouldn't that be for the best? You need to come back to us, puppet. You've been out of our hands for too long."

"I'll do it, I will, I'll be loyal, I won't be bad again," the Soldier assures, leaning into his handler's touch, because  _Lukin is going to make everything alright now._  All the malfunctioning, all the distractions, they'll all end, and Lukin will make everything alright. He will have a clear purpose, a clear mission. He'll have orders. Structure.

(A little voice inside him is screaming about something, screaming no, screaming some name he can't quite make out. He crushes it swiftly. He promised he'd be good, and he's going to fulfill that promise. All of the disloyal things inside him like the voice will vanish. The white snow that coats his thoughts wipes him blank. He needs to be blank for his handler.)

"Good." Lukin smiles wider. He places his lips on the Soldier's forehead and then withdraws. "Are you ready to prove yourself?" 

"Yes." He's ready. He has to be. He can't fail again. He can't disappoint his handler again. 

"Your target is Steve Rogers; Captain America. Mission objective: Kill Captain America. You failed last time. Do not fail now." Lukin starts to turn away, satisfied. 

"No."

It slips from his lips before he can catch it. It's from the same voice that screamed at him before, the one he thought he'd crushed. The Soldier is dizzy and lightheaded because he has to follow orders but  _Steve_.

"Excuse me?" Lukin demands with rage, and the Soldier doesn't flinch, but he wants to, oh, he's afraid, but the snow in his mind is melting and he remembers his mission. 

"Error. Mission objective: Kill Captain America. Mission objective: Save Steve. Mission parameters conflict." He intones, his voice much stronger than his courage.

"That isn't your mission. Mission objective: Save Steve is terminated. Your mission is to kill Captain America." Lukin's glare is full of ice, and the Soldier is reminded of cryostasis. He trembles.

"No," he insists, clenching a shaking hand, "Mission objective: Save Steve. Status: active, incomplete."

The punch is expected and the Soldier does not resist. His eyes water slightly as he hears the crack of his nose breaking.

"I thought you wished to prove your  _loyalty_ , puppet." Lukin spits out his words like they're poison in his mouth. "Why must you act this way? I'm displeased."

"But-" he stutters, looking back up at Lukin's face, and his handler punches him again. Blood is running down his face now. He takes the hint; making eye contact is unwanted. He keeps his gaze lowered to the floor.

"You dare disobey? We gave you life when you were dying. We gave you an arm when you had none. When you woke in that chair trembling we stroked your hair and toweled you down and when the trembling stopped we gave you your orders. We took care of you, we provide structure. This is how you repay us?  Repay  _me_?!" Lukin backhands him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "But- Mission objective: Save Steve-" It's important,  _Steve_  is important, he can't-

"Why all this sudden loyalty to Steve Rogers? What has he done to earn it? Where has he been? We own you. You belong to us, not him. Who is your handler, your master, the one who gives your life meaning and order, the one you belong to? Is it this Steve Rogers?" Lukin scoffs. "No."

"Yes." The Soldier suddenly snaps his head around to lock eyes with Lukin. "Yes, it is." 

" _What?!_ "

The Soldier takes a step back from Lukin. This is not his handler, not anymore. The certainty settles inside him like an iron weight in his gut. He belongs to Steve. He has never known something more clear than this. He takes ahold of it. "You are not my master. Steve Rogers is."

Lukin looks as if he is going to hiss out something else, maybe even strike him, the Soldier isn't sure. He has his gun to Lukin's forehead before he can come any closer.

Lukin calms instantly. "You won't shoot me," he says with confidence.

He's right. Every instinct in the Soldier overrides his momentary desire to kill Lukin. He's been programmed to protect the handler at all costs, and Lukin used to be his handler, so he can't fight it. If Steve were here to order him then maybe he could, but he can't now.

"Get. Out. Of. Here." He growls instead, practically spitting each word, and Lukin smiles. 

"We'll meet again, puppet. Your Steve Rogers is weak, and you will come back to us. Or maybe he'll grow tired of you and sell you to us himself. Either way,  _you will be punished for this_." And then Lukin turns and walks away.

The Soldier can't move until Lukin is out of sight. His legs give out from under him and a whimper escapes his throat. He clutches at his head as a headache threatens to split his skull, but no new memories come. It is just his disobedience that is causing him stress, perhaps.

Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. He needs to find his handler. He needs to find Steve. He puts his mask back on- he doesn't want to be recognized again, and he thinks that Lukin only recognized him because he'd been the Soldier's handler for a long time- and he walks. He has to go to room two.

He finds it quickly. Double doors, oak, at least two inches thick. Of course they're keeping the Captain here. They're taking as many precautions as they can, even with him drugged up. He gently tries a doorknob, just in case it's unlocked. It isn't.

The Soldier holds the gun in only his weak hand now. He pulls his strong arm back slowly, lets it whir and click as the outer panels move in the right places, lets his feet slide back to brace him, and then he turns his whole upper body and punches through the door on the right. He hears the yells of shock from inside and shoves his arm further through the door so he can grasp at the doorknob inside. He opens the door, moving back with it, so when the bullets fly out they bury into the wall behind him. 

They didn't expect him to hide behind the door. He pulls his arm out of the hole and brushes off bits of wood. His arm plates had closed up any gaps in his arm like they did when his strong arm is submerged in water, so none of the splinters had gotten in between any plates and poked any important wires. When the gunfire stops and the voices in the room become more confused than afraid, he emerges from behind the door and guns down three whitecoats.

The room is large and full of computers and machinery. There is an operating table in the center of the room that Steve is strapped and cuffed to surrounded by four panicking whitecoats- doctors and technicians, most likely. Three more are dead on the floor from his bullets. An IV is hooked up to Steve, who is unconscious and wearing nothing but pants and some bandages around his chest and stomach. There are several filing cabinets to the left, and the countertop with the sink in it has drawers to the left and cabinets above. There are several carts with things like scalpels drug containers scattered around the room. The Chair is in the corner, foreboding and familiar.

One of the remaining whitecoats is halfway across the room, heading for the alarm. The Soldier's bullet lodges deep in his brain. The other four drop to the floor, looking for somewhere to hide, and the Soldier shoots all of them within the minute. 

He is seething. Absolutely enraged, and the room is as bloody as his anger. They have drugged Steve, and the Chair is there in the corner. They might have put Steve in the Chair, they might have tortured him, the possibilities are nearly endless, the Soldier can't see any injuries on him other than the ones that are bandaged but he doesn't know how fast Steve heals and there are ways to torture someone beyond the physical. He places his gun on the ground and then rips the restraints off Steve, and the metal screams a horrible screeching sound when it tears. It takes more than one yank for some of them. The table  _had_  been built for him, after all,

_(He can't move he can't move he can't move and they're putting the rag over his head and he hears the water as they pour it down at him and it trickles into his nose and mouth and runs down his throat and he can't breathe he can't breathe it's so dark he can't move he can't breathe he can't breathe he can't breathe he's drowning he's been bad he's loyal he's loyal he_  is  _he's drowning he's drowning and then they take the cloth away and the choking noises coming from him slowly cease and he can_  breathe  _again)_

so of course it's hard to get the restraints off. But there are weakness and joints and locks and latches, and while it's impossible to get out when you're the one strapped down, it's possible to get them off if you're free and your arm is as strong as the Winter Soldier's or you have the keys/a laser.

He pauses after the last one and braces himself with both hands on the edge of the operating table. Huffing slightly, he wonders what's wrong with him. He's been drinking water and healing. Why is he so physically deficient?

"Bucky?" murmurs a familiar voice, and the Soldier's head snaps up to gaze at the bleary blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

Steve's awake; probably startled into consciousness by all of the gunshots and the sounds from tearing metal. The Soldier opens his mouth to speak- or would have if he hadn't been wearing his mask. He'd almost forgotten that he's wearing it. 

"You're hurt," Steve says, or at least, that's how the Soldier interprets the slurred words that come out of Steve's mouth. 

The Soldier rips the IV out of Steve's arm and shakes his head. He is functional. He wraps Steve's arm around his shoulders and his own weak arm around Steve's waist and heaves him up off the table. Steve can barely stand and he's slipping back to unconsciousness. He knows it, too, and blurts, "Not much time. Sam." 

The Soldier cocks his head to convey his confusion. Who is Sam and why are they important enough to bother mentioning when they need to hurry and escape?

Steve blinks several times and focuses as much as he can on the Soldier. "Y' met him. Wings." And then his eyelids slide shut and he goes limp. The Soldier holds his strong hand in front of Steve's mouth and is....grateful? to see Steve's breath mist on his fingers. He's alive still. It's just the drugs.

Wings. Sam is the winged man, Steve's friend? He is here?

Steve wants him rescued. It's an order. 

_Mission objective modified. Updated mission objective: Save Steve and Sam. Priority: Steve. Status: Incomplete_

An alarm blares. The Soldier can't leave Steve like this. Hydra will find him and take even further advantage of his drugged state. But Steve cannot walk, and taking him with the Soldier may risk his life.

_(PROTECT THE HANDLER AT ALL COSTS)_  

Footsteps come closer and five- no, six- Hydra soldiers with guns round the corner and charge into the room with guns ablaze. The Soldier hurls Steve to the side of the room and knocks a cart over, pulling it in front of himself so it takes the bullets instead of him. He pulls the Sa. Vz. 61 Skorpion from the back of his vest under his jacket and opens fire, hitting three males and a female before having to duck back behind the cart. He looks over at Steve, still unconscious against the wall, and his eyes fall on a woman creeping over towards Steve with some sort of glass container in her hands. The Soldier thinks he sees the gleam of a needle and doesn't think twice about shooting her in the back. The glass thing shatters on the floor- it  _is_  a needle- and she cries out. The remaining two soldiers curse, and the Soldier hears them knock something over. Probably another cart for themselves to hide behind.

The Soldier doesn't have time for a shooting match. He stands abruptly, kicks the cart out of the way, and strides towards where the two Hydra men are hiding. One of them pokes their head out from behind their cart at the noise and the Soldier puts a bullet in between his eyes before he can duck back. The remaining guy swears.

"Hail Hydra!" he screams as he bolts upright and throws a miniature grenade at the Soldier's chest height. The Soldier's hand comes up and knocks it into the hallway as it flies at him, and it breaks through a window and explodes just outside the building, the tremor making both the Soldier and the soldier fall to the ground. When the Soldier gets to his feet again, the man is dying, frothing at the mouth from what's most likely a cyanide false tooth.

The Soldier crosses the room to the cabinets. There are a few spare white lab coats inside, and he takes the largest one and puts it on the unconscious Steve, who groans a bit when the Soldier moves him. He makes sure to be as gentle as possible and wonders with distress if the bandages around Steve's stomach are from the bullets the Soldier put there. He drags the body of the woman he shot in the back closer to Steve, and when he touches the wound she cries out and he realizes she's still alive. He crushes her throat with his strong hand and then uses his weak hand to dab at the blood on her back. He spreads it on Steve's face, chest, and lab coat, and then lays them both out on the floor, all sprawled out and dead-looking. Steve is on his side and the woman is on her back.

Satisfied that any Hydra soldier that glances in will not suspect that there are survivors, the Soldier strides out the door to search for Sam. 

* * *

**sam wilson**

Sam woke up to the irritating sound of an alarm and men stomping around outside his cell. Shouts and curses brought a smile to his aching face. Had Barton finally come to save them? Or was it Hill and her merry men? Maybe it was Natasha Romanoff, the one-woman army.

The guard in his cell was looking fidgety and enraged. Sam's smile widened. "Looks like I win."

"Shut the hell up." The guard's grip on his gun tightened.

Sam didn't. "You know what I'm gonna do to you when I get out of this chair? I'm going to beat you up. Like, really hard."

"I told you to shut up." The guard glared.

Sam was going to say something else, but before he got the chance the door was ripped off its hinges. A man stormed in, but he wasn't Barton. He was dressed in all black with long brown hair and a face mask that covered everything below his eyes. He raised his gun and shot the guard in the head without even looking at him. His nose looked broken, and blood leaked from it into his black mask. Sam recognized him. The icy stare, the metal fingers in the gloved hand that clutched the gun, the face mask, the hair, the careless strut. This was the Winter Soldier. The Winter fucking Soldier was in his cell and walking right up to him.

Sam leaned back in his seat. "Hold on, Bucky, let's think about this," he began, trying to appeal to whatever was left of the Winter Soldier's humanity, because there was no way he was going to die in some Hydra facility at the hands of the former best friend of an American hero.

But the Winter Soldier knelt beside him and ripped apart his restraints. He wasn't killing him. He was.... _rescuing_  him?!

Maybe Steve was right. Maybe there was still something of Bucky Barnes in this guy's head after all. 

The Winter Soldier was so close that Sam could smell him, and he didn't smell good. At all. It was like he hadn't showered in years. His hair looked really greasy, and there was blood on him. His metal fingers dripped with it (not his own blood, then) and it was spattered on his clothes. Very gross.

Sam wasn't so sure he was any better, so he didn't say anything. 

(Although, at least he'd showered the before he'd boarded the plane in Russia!)

"Thank you." Sam said when he could stand up. The Winter Soldier just looked at him blankly and started to walk away. Sam hurried to catch up and ignored how large the bags under the man's eyes were.

He stopped when they actually got in the hallway. It was like a scene from a movie. Dead bodies scattered all over, blood smeared on the walls, bullets in the dead center of men's foreheads. Thing One and Thing Two were sprawled on his left. Sam had seen dead soldiers before. This wasn't new. But that didn't make it any less horrifying.

The Winter Soldier stopped walking when he couldn't hear Sam's footsteps. He beckoned with his flesh hand.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Sam stepped over a dead body and started following again. When he'd just about caught up with the Winter Soldier he tapped him on the shoulder lightly. "Hey, um, Steve's here. We should go find him."

The Winter Soldier didn't acknowledge that he'd said anything. 

"Hey." Sam said it with more force, and he tugged at the Winter Soldier's arm quickly and then let go just in case the guy didn't like to be touched. "We've got to find Steve."

The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Sam by the arm and started pulling him down the corridor like Sam was some misbehaving toddler.

" _Bucky_ ," Sam tried again, because what the hell, why didn't he care about Steve, but then the barrel of a gun was in his face, the cold metal touching his bruised forehead, and he froze. The Winter Soldier slowly moved the gun around to the back of Sam's head and nudged. He wanted Sam to walk. Okay. That was cool. Sam could walk.

He would turn around and knock the gun out of his hands if the Winter Soldier was anyone but the Winter Soldier. It was probably safest to just do what he wanted for now.

He marched Sam up a flight of stairs. All along the way the alarm continued to sound. Sam could see the bars on the windows that didn't have their curtains fully closed. The floors were littered with bodies. 

_Did he kill all of these people?_  Sam wondered with a twinge of fear.

The Winter Soldier grunted when Sam started to walk past a room labeled "Room Two" and Sam stopped walking. The metal of the gun vanished from the back of his head and he knew that the Winter Soldier had lowered it. He strode into the room and Sam followed since he didn't know where else to go. He saw an operating table, a large, weird-looking metal chair, a bunch of dead people in white coats, and some overturned carts. He also saw Steve. Covered in blood.

" _Steve!_ " He bolted past the Winter Soldier to kneel at his friend's side. He felt for a pulse- it was there, and it was strong, thank God. He patted at his face to try to wake him up. When he didn't stir, Sam whirled on the Winter Soldier. "What the hell happened to him?!" 

The Winter Soldier said nothing. This seemed like a habit of his.

A thought occurred to Sam as he looked at the Winter Soldier's face and the black mask that covered most of it. It reminded him of a muzzle. "Can you talk with that thing on?"

The Winter Soldier shook his head.

Sam frowned. "Why are you wearing it, then?"

The Winter Soldier gave him another of those blank stares and Sam mentally smacked himself. "Right. Can't answer that question because you can't talk. Duh." Sam almost started to ask him why he didn't just take it off, but instead decided to go with, "Are you going to help me carry Steve out of here?" because that was a yes or no question and the Winter Soldier could make a head movement to indicate his answer.

He didn't make a head movement. Instead, he walked over, handed Sam the gun he was carrying, and then slung Steve over his left shoulder like a fucking sack of potatoes or something. His knees buckled slightly, but then he was just fine. 

Sam blinked. "Um. Alright. Lead the way. Do you- do you want the gun back, or...." 

The Winter Soldier's metal hand was holding onto Steve, but his flesh hand was free, and it pulled a small silver pistol from a holster that had two in it. Sam took that as a no. He followed him into the hallway again and down to a room labeled "Room Five". The Winter Soldier's hands were full so Sam opened the door for him. The curtains were drawn in this room, and the window had no bars on it.

The Winter Soldier put the gun back in its holster and opened the window one-handedly. He started trying to fit horizontal Steve through the opening in the window.

"Wait, what the fuck-"

He pushed Steve out the window.

Out the fucking window.

Sam shoved him out of the way and stuck his head out to peer down at Steve, who'd landed without a broken neck somehow. He pulled his head out of the window and stared at the Winter Soldier, who was walking back over. 

"No. Absolutely not," he protested, but the Winter Soldier picked him up and carried him bridal-style. Then he backed up, and Sam knew this wasn't going to end well. They weren't going to crawl out the small opening in the window. They were going through the whole thing, glass and opening and all. He held on tightly to the Winter Soldier's jacket with his fists. 

The Winter Soldier sprinted at the window, but when he jumped up he spun around so his back was what shattered the glass. Sam didn't scream as they fell through the air (he was a pilot and a Falcon, of course he didn't scream) but he did gasp a little bit. What if they landed on Steve?

They didn't land on Steve.  

The Winter Soldier curled up around Sam a bit as they fell, and he'd jumped far when he jumped out, so his back bore the full brunt of the impact on the ground about a foot away from Steve's face. Sam heard the breath rush out of him, and he quickly scrambled upright and out of his way so he could get up, but he didn't move. Sam offered him his hand. 

"We've got to go. I think I hear someone coming."

The Winter Soldier raised three fingers. 

"Three someones?"

He nodded. 

"Okay, then we've definitely got to go."

The Winter Soldier took Sam's hand and he pulled him to his feet. He watched as the Winter Soldier slung Steve over his shoulder again, watched his knees buckle again, watched a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, and he thought to himself that maybe he wasn't on top of his game.

He pushed the thought out of his mind as the Soldier started trudging towards a smaller concrete building. Sam kept his gun up, watching for more Hydra goons. None showed up. He figured that they were all inside trying to regroup and figure out what the hell was going on.

The Winter Soldier led him to the back of the building. A truck was parked there next to a stack of dead bodies. Of course.

Sam opened the back seat door and the Winter Soldier lay Steve down with surprising gentleness. Steve's head was on this duffel bag, kind of like a pillow. Sam got in the passenger side door, moved a map in order to sit down, and the Winter Soldier started the car. 

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Sam said, and the Winter Soldier floored it. 

After driving for a minute or two, Sam turned to the Winter Soldier and said, "Want me to get the mask off?" 

The Winter Soldier stared at the road and said nothing.

"It would probably make it easier to communicate if I did."

The Winter Soldier's eyes looked in the rear view mirror for a moment before glancing at Sam and nodding curtly. Sam very carefully climbed in the back seat and removed his mask, tossing it under the Winter Soldier's chair.

"How'd you break your nose?" Sam asked, and, yeah, that probably shouldn't have been the first question he asked, but whatever.

"Got punched twice." His voice was hoarse and quiet from disuse.

"Somebody managed to land a hit on you? _Twice?_ " Captain America had had trouble doing that, and he was _Captain fucking America_. Who the hell could do that in a Hydra base? "Did Steve hit you?" It seemed unlikely, but it was all he could come up with. Steve wasn't even conscious, but maybe that was because the Winter Soldier fought him.

"No."

He didn't seem to want to say anything more on the subject, so Sam let it go.

Kind of. 

"The person who hit you. Or, persons. Are they going to follow us?"

"No."

Sam almost asked, "Are you sure?" but then realized that the Winter Soldier probably killed them, and that was how he was sure.

The Winter Soldier glanced at him again. "You have also been punched." His voice cracked, and he narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat.  

"Yeah, a lot." Sam climbed back into the passenger seat and buckled up. "Do you know where we are?" 

"Look at the map. New York."

Sam brightened. "That's great, actually, 'cause there's this tower...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a monster of a chapter to churn out. Sorry about the length. I just didn't know where to stop.
> 
> Gun information from [here](http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Captain_America:_The_Winter_Soldier).
> 
> The Winter Soldier is pretty much running on pure adrenaline and determination by now. As soon as all this calms down he's going to find himself to be incredibly incapable of standing.
> 
> (all Russian is provided to me by google translate and is therefore probably inaccurate.)  
> привет - hello  
> где - where  
> шесть часо - six hours  
> Собрание - Sobranie [(it's a Russian brand of cigarette)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sobranie)  
> сигарета - cigarette  
> Отбой, марионетка - Stand down, marionette
> 
> Bill O'Reilly is a dude from Fox News who is homophobic.
> 
> I figured it took the Hydra dudes about a half hour to change the tire. A person with experience and tools can do it in twenty minutes or less according to [this](http://www.ask.com/question/how-long-does-it-take-to-change-a-flat-tire), and rates were varied [here](https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070615222138AAg23cp).  
> If I missed anything you think needs explaining, please leave a comment!


	5. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of homophobia and that one method of trying to cure homosexuality by electric shocks
> 
> sorry this took so long lmao

 

**the winter soldier**  

The Soldier steals glances at Steve in the rear view mirror every few minutes. It is irrational, but he feels that if he keeps his eyes off him for too long he will disappear. He cannot bring himself to stop. 

The map is open on the lap of the winged- of Sam. When the Soldier isn't looking at the road or at Steve he is looking at the map. They are going to Manhattan. Sam doesn't know the exact address of the tower but he says that he'll know it when he sees it. 

"There's a big 'A' at the top. It stands for Avengers," he'd said, as if the Soldier is supposed to recognize the significance of that title.

Sam notices the Soldier's glances at Steve, but he says nothing about it. The Soldier knows he should not be showing that Steve is a weakness, but he decides that it does not matter since Sam would not exploit that weakness at Steve's expense anyway. They are friends. There would be no need, though, even if Sam would be willing, because the Soldier belongs to them now. No coercion or abduction attempts will be necessary for them to acquire him. He is already theirs.

 

"What do you want to be called?" Sam asks suddenly. 

The Soldier does not understand why Sam asks this. "It doesn't matter" he says, because while Steve had said on the bridge that his name was "James Buchanan Barnes", it seems unnecessarily long (wouldn't his handlers like to waste as little breath as possible when acknowledging him?). Steve had mostly called him "Bucky", so he supposed Sam would do the same.

"It should matter," Sam says, and his voice is soft. The Soldier doesn't know how to respond to that, so he just drives. Sam's jaw clenches, and the Soldier resists the urge to flinch. Sam only says, "Is Barnes alright? I feel a bit awkward calling you the Winter Soldier, even if it's just in my head."

"That is fine," says the Soldier, staying detached outwardly as he is relieved inwardly.

"Alright." Sam pauses again. "Are you hurt?"

"I am functional." His voice is becoming less hoarse.

Sam gave him an odd look when he thought the Soldier wasn't looking, but he changed subjects. "Whose blood is Steve covered in?"

"A dead Hydra soldier's." The female with the needle.

Sam nods, looking relieved. "I figured you'd have pulled over to patch him up if he was hurt bad enough to bleed that much. Did Hydra drug him?"

The Soldier nods. He finds it odd that Sam asked about the Soldier before he asked about Steve.

"Do you know when he'll wake up?"

He shakes his head.

Sam shifts to stare out the window. Then he shifts back. "How'd you know we were at that base?"

"The map." The Soldier would point to it, but he feels as though he might slump over if he lets go of the steering wheel.

The darker man looks down at it. "These places marked- they're Hydra bases." He glances at the Soldier for confirmation. When the Soldier nods, he continues. "This is where we were captured, and that's where they took us. I'll give this map to Stark; he can probably see if these other bases are still active. Where'd you get this?"

"The basement of the base where you were captured." There are many more vehicles around them now, and the Soldier has to take longer intervals between his glances at Steve so he can focus on the road.

"How'd you know we were there, anyway?" Sam's face and voice are both nearly blank, but the Soldier catches the suspicion underneath the layers of neutrality.

"Followed you there. Failed to recognize the abduction-" there is a word that can go next, an English word along the lines of быстро or вовремя or something, but he cannot think of it and it is unimportant so he skips it and continues. "Had to infiltrate the base to look for anything left behind that could indicate your location." The Soldier switches lanes as he answers.

Sam says, "We need to be in that lane," and he points, so the Soldier switches lanes again, and the conversation appears to be over.

After a few more minutes they cross a large bridge and Sam asks, "Can I turn on the radio?"

The Soldier isn't sure why he's asking for permission, but he nods anyway.

Then the Soldier recalls the way he'd pointed the gun at Sam in the Hydra building to get him to hurry and something twists in his stomach. This is why Sam asks for permission. Sam believes his malfunctioning leaves him unstable enough that he might harm him. He will be punished for this when they arrive at the tower; when Sam realizes that since he is a handler he is in charge and that the Soldier was out of line when he pointed that gun at him. 

Sam reaches a hand out and the Soldier stays very still, just in case Sam has realized already what the Soldier deserves, but instead of striking him he just grasps the dial to turn on the radio. Steve groans in the back seat, and Sam turns his attention to him instead of turning the radio on. "Hey, Cap, you with us?" he asks gently, reaching an arm back to brush his fingers lightly over Steve's face. 

Steve's eyelids blink open slowly, and his words are quiet and slightly slurred. "Sam. You're hurt."

Sam smiles. "They roughed me up a bit. Nothing I couldn't handle. It's you I'm worried about."

"Sorry," says Steve, and his eyes close again.

The traffic is thick now. The Soldier concentrates on the road. Sam doesn't turn the radio on.

"You know how to drive?" Sam asks suddenly, as if the thought just occurred to him.

The Soldier nods. He also knows how to pilot a helicopter and a fighter jet and how to ride a motorcycle. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. It's most likely part of his programming.

He sees the tower. It's taller than most of the surrounding buildings, and its shape is much different. There is an 'A' near the top on the edge of the landing platform (not big enough for a helicopter or a jet), and it looks like there used to be more letters, because the two stripes on top and bottom don't quite reach the 'A'.

"Okay, I think it's officially on 58th and Broadway. Did you know it's completely self-sustained? The energy all comes from some sort of Arc Reactor. It was headlining news a year or two ago. Stark's a good guy, he's doing research in clean energy and stuff." Sam talks about Stark for a few minutes more as the Soldier maneuvers the vehicle through traffic and tries to get closer to the building. "He's not the CEO of his company anymore, that's Pepper Potts, but he's still the genius behind most of the inventions. He used to be a weapons manufacturer."

The Soldier pulls up towards the main gate where three security guards are checking people's IDs through the window.

"Fuck. I don't have an ID. There's no Avengers business card, shit, they won't believe us or won't care if we tell them who I am, and they'll arrest us if we tell them who  _you_  are. If we had some kind of phone or something to call Stark- but we don't even have his private line, that wouldn't work anyway. Shit. I didn't think this through."

The Soldier narrows his eyes as he studies one of the security guards. He is  _(early thirties,_ _180_ _lbs, 1.74 meters high, trained, armed, dangerous, possible threat)_  familiar, and as they get closer the Soldier recognizes him. He was a guard when the Soldier woke up. He's one of the ones who joked in Russian with another guard while the Soldier shook (an effect of the Chair). He's Hydra.

The Soldier's head snaps around to look at Sam, searching his face for signs of betrayal. This is a trap, a set up, Sam has brought him right to Hydra. "You said this place was safe."

Sam hears something in his voice that makes him become carefully reassuring. "Yeah. Stark is Steve's friend. He's very careful and he does background checks on all his employees."

"He missed one." The Soldier's weak hand tightens on the steering wheel. He can't get the vehicle out of this line. They're next to be checked. He grits his teeth. "Wake him up."

"Steve?"

"Yes. Wake him up."

Sam is suspicious of the Soldier's motive, but he does as the Soldier ordered  _(he's not supposed to order a handler, he is going to be disciplined severely for this)_  and reaches back and shakes Steve's shoulder. The drugs must be wearing off quickly, because Steve grunts and his eyes flutter open.

"Is Stark safe?" The Soldier demands.

"Wha..?" Steve blinks, trying to see.

"Is Stark safe?" He repeats. The car in front of them is starting to pull away. They don't have much time.

"Yeah, Bucky, he's..." and Steve's eyes close again, unable to finish his sentence.

It's all the Soldier needs to hear. "Cover his body with the coat, and do not let the guards see your injured face," he tells Sam, and as Sam reaches back again to adjust the white coat Steve's got, the Soldier pulls up to the security guards. He rolls down his window.

"ID badge?" The guard asks, sounding bored, and the Soldier knows what to do.

"I forgot it. But he knows me, I was here yesterday." The Soldier manages to unclench his weak hand from the wheel and he points to the familiar guard. "двойной агент!" he calls out to get the guard's attention, and the guard freezes, turning slowly to stare at the Soldier, who beckons with the weak hand.

He walks over, looking suspicious. "Hi there," he greets casually.

"цель миссии: проникнуть в башню," the Soldier lies, and the guard scrutinizes him for half a second before the Soldier pulls up his jacket sleeve slightly to reveal a sliver of his strong arm and the guard realizes who he is. The Soldier repeats, "I forgot my ID."

The guard smiles, pretending to be friendly. "That was really stupid of you, зима. You'll remember it next time, right? кто является другой человек?"

"Of course." The Soldier imitates the guard's smile. It feels wrong and he wonders for a moment if showing that he is able to smile might betray to the guard that he has left Hydra's grasp. "приманка."

The guard doesn't understand, but it's not his job to understand. It is his job to make the Soldier's job easier. "Be on your way," is all he says, and as he waves the Soldier's vehicle through he tells the other guards that the Soldier is a Russian man named Zima who works on one of the robotics teams on the lower floors. The Soldier puts the window back up, dropping the smile.

When they are far enough away that the guards won't hear them, Sam blurts, "What was that?" He is displeased.

"Hydra." The Soldier is displeased, too, but for a different reason.

"Really?!" Sam asks with alarm.

The Soldier nods. 

"I'll report him to Stark. He'll double check his employees' backgrounds. That shouldn't have happened. Fuck. Maybe we shouldn't have come here."

The Soldier parks the vehicle in between a small white van and a smaller black vehicle. "Steve said it was safe."

"Yeah, and so did I, but now Hydra knows we're here." The Soldier gets out of the car the same time Sam does. He feels vertigo and has to take a moment to steady himself. He needs maintenance, but he needs to get Steve to Stark first.

He pulls the duffel bag out of the car and places it on the ground, and then he heaves Steve out and takes several minutes to position him over his shoulder that makes carrying him easiest. Sam carries the duffel bag.

The Soldier turns his face away from the security cameras out of habit and starts walking towards what looks like a door to an elevator. His steps are heavy, because so is Steve, and he tries to hurry. He's got to get Steve to safety before his eyes close for a long time, if they do. Steve needs him. Steve needs him. Steve needs him.

Sam presses a button next to the door and it opens. The elevator is a bit cramped, and when the Soldier starts putting Steve down Sam helps hold Steve in a standing position. 

"Okay, I'm pretty sure to get to Stark's medical floor- because he probably has one- we have to get past the first fourteen floors." Sam eyes the numbered buttons carefully. "I've always liked the number 89," he says absentmindedly, but when he presses it the elevator doesn't move.

The Soldier points with the hand that isn't holding Steve up. There is one panel on the wall and another panel slightly below it, and the lower panel suddenly lights up, and text appears on it: "PLEASE PLACE YOUR HAND ON THE ABOVE SCANNER."

Sam pauses. "Let's try Steve's hand," he says, and he grabs Steve's right hand and wipes it on his own shirt to get rid of any blood. He presses it to the panel until there's the sound of a ding and the panel below reads, "PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD." and provides a set of letters and a box. 

"Oh, hell," Sam scowls. His fingers tap rapidly at letters, spelling out something with eleven characters, but he hesitates to push to enter key. "Let's hope this works," he mutters, and when he presses the enter key there is another ding and the panel changes to a screen that says, "WELCOME, CAPTAIN ROGERS" and Sam exhales with relief.

The elevator begins to move upward.

"God, Steve," Sam mutters, "you are so predictable."

The Soldier wonders what the password was. 

* * *

**clint barton**

They were sitting in a hotel watching Sesame Street and playing poker (Clint was only sometimes better than Stark but no one could beat Natasha) when JARVIS finally had something. 

Stark's phone buzzed and he didn't hesitate to grab it, putting his cards down and focusing entirely on the message. His eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "What the hell?"

"What is it?" Clint and Natasha both put their cards down.

"Steve's handprint and password were entered in an elevator in the Tower to go to Steve's floor." Stark typed something into the phone. "If the signal is good enough in here I might be able to get live security camera footage."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a grim look. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine Hydra cutting off one of Rogers' hands and torturing him to get his password in order to have access to the Tower. They couldn't see why the Winter Soldier would do such a thing, but if he was working for Hydra again, then maybe. Stark's Tower was full of technology that Hydra could find useful, plus it was slowly turning into the base of operations for the Avengers. Planting a bomb there would not only devastate Stark and the families of those who worked there; it would also give them lots of attention from news outlets. A direct attack on Stark/Avengers Tower plus the maiming/murder of Captain America? Fuck, that would be a nightmare.

However, there was always the possibility that the Cap and Wilson had just gotten free and headed over there. 

Clint really hoped it was the latter. 

"I got it!" Stark grinned, and then he didn't, and Clint's stomach tightened.

"Well, show us the damn phone," he blurted, and Stark passed it over. Clint held it so both he and Natasha could see.

There were three male figures in the elevator. One was black, wearing civvies, and bleeding in the face, and he looked like Wilson. One of the two white guys had long dark hair, was dressed in all black (probably combat gear underneath the jacket), had guns holstered on his thighs, and needed a shave. The third was unconscious with one arm around possibly-Wilson's shoulder and one arm around brunet-white-guy's shoulder. He was blonde, shirtless, and covered in blood, and he looked like Rogers.

"I think Mr. Needs-a-Shave is the Winter Soldier," Stark said unnecessarily.

Natasha nodded. "That's him."

Stark plucked the phone from Clint's fingers and dialed a number. Clint knew the person picked up right away because within two seconds Stark said, "Do you ever watch children's programming while playing poker with two assassins and get a text from an artificial intelligence system with video feed from an elevator where your new friends are bloody and beaten and you wonder where your life went wrong?" Pause. "No, I'm not drunk. Nice to hear from you too. How fast can you fly to New York?" Pause. "No, I mean  _fly_  fly." Pause. "Great. Listen. So there's about to be a potential hostage situation on floor 89 of my Tower and I was checking to see if you could get there faster than I could." Pause. "Yeah, I know, but I'm not carrying two assassins all the way from Detroit to New York." Pause. "They're nice assassins, I don't want them to kill me!" Clint snorted. Pause. "I'm sure they'd find a chink in the armor somehow." Pause. "I'm sending up a trustworthy agent and medical response team, you won't be alone. If you've got tranqs then you'd better arm yourself with them. Make sure it's actually a hostage situation before you attack, though, it's either two friendlies and an unfriendly we need alive or it's three friendlies." Pause. "We don't have much time, I'll explain later." Pause. "Unconscious Captain America, injured and de-winged Falcon, armed-" he chuckled- "brainwashed Soviet assassin." Pause. "No, they were Stark tech." Pause. "Yes. No. Okay. Thank you. Be careful!"

Stark dialed another number. This one took longer to pick up. "What did I interrupt?" He asked when there was finally an answer. "I was just calling to say that there might be a bit of a ruckus on floor 89. Don't bother worrying about it. They might bring some patients onto one of the medical floors. Namely, Captain America and the Falcon." Pause. "I don't know, you'll have to tell me." Pause. "Yeah. I'm bringing Hawkeye and Black Widow with me. And Rhodey's coming, too. It's gonna be a party." Pause. "Alright. Bye, Bruce."

Stark took a deep breath before dialing the third number. Clint raised an eyebrow. Natasha inferred who it was before Clint did. Stark made his voice cheerful as he said, "Hi, honey! Could you do me a favor and not go on floor 89 for the next couple hours?" Pause. "I didn't do anything!" Stark defended himself with a pout. "Why do you always assume the worst? No, wait, don't answer that. Basically we're going to be entertaining a possibly unsavory house guest and I'd rather not unnecessarily stress you out." Pause. "No, really!" Pause. "Love you, bye. Have fun in your meeting.

"Okay, last call," Stark muttered, and then he dialed the final number. The person picked up immediately, and Stark gave no greeting. "I need you to grab a gun and a medical team you trust and go to floor 89 right now. The elevator shouldn't give you any problems. Do not let anyone else know where you're going, this is top secret." Pause. "What do you mean, you're not in the building?" Pause. Stark shot a small glare at Clint. "How fast?" Pause. "That'll do. Just get there." He hung up without a farewell and glared at Clint some more. "Why didn't you tell me that Hill was in Detroit with you when Cap went missing?"

"I didn't know it was relevant," Clint said honestly. "Why'd you call her, of all people?"

"She works for me now and I know she was part of the mission to take down the Insight helicarriers." Stark rubbed his forehead with his left hand and sent a text with his right. "Alright. Now we've got to get to one of my private jets and head to New York."

"Why didn't you tell me you hired Hill?" Clint asked.

"I didn't know it was relevant." Stark parroted. Clint glared. Natasha rolled her eyes and shoved back from the table.

"C'mon, boys, time to go. Stark, get in the suit and go. Clint and I will meet you at the Tower."

Stark blinked. "Are you sure? How are you going to get there?"

"One of your private jets, duh."

"I don't think the airport people would just let you take one of my jets."

"That's why you're going to call them and tell them I'm going to take the plane. It makes my job a lot easier if I don't actually have to sneak on board and they prep it ahead of time." Natasha pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Also, if I don't have to fly it, that would be great."

"Oh. Right." 

* * *

  **james rhodes**

 Sometimes Rhodey wished that Tony would put the numbers on the outside of the Tower, too, because that would make taking care of his dumb ass a whole lot easier.

He flew towards the Tower with slight trepidation. Tony had called him earlier spewing something about Sesame Street and assassins and then told him about a hostage situation in New York he needed assistance with. Rhodey wasn't looking forward to fighting....what was it, a Soviet assassin? But Tony'd said to actually make sure the guy was hostile before engaging him, so maybe he wouldn't have to fight. He turned up the AC and repressed a sigh. Tony was lucky he was on vacation and in the area.

When he actually got to the tower, he ended up just flying to a high floor and knocking on a window. The woman working inside the office the window belonged to gave him a strange look but opened the window anyway. She must have recognized him from the patriotic colors. "How can I help you?"

"Hi." He gave her a dazzling smile. Except he didn't, really, because the face mask was down. His voice came out tinny through the speaker. "What floor is this?"

"It's floor 65."

"Great. Thank you!" Rhodey flew higher, counting each individual floor until he found 89. 

He called Tony, who answered on the second ring with, "Do you ever fly around and noticed that a cloud looks like a dick and then start looking for another dick-cloud because there's gotta be a second one somewhere and end up seeing, like, four dicks in a cloud?"

"I can't say that I do."

"What's up, Rhodey?"

Rhodey tried not to grin and failed. "Dick-clouds."

Tony actually snorted. "Very funny. No, but really."

"I need you to get J.A.R.V.I.S. to open a window on floor 89. These windows are rocket proof or something, aren't they?" Rhodey rapped an iron ("Gold-titanium alloy," his inner-Tony corrected) knuckle on the glass. 

"Virtually indestructible. I got some money back from the company that made the glass when Loki threw me out a window during the New York attack. Sure, I'll see what I can do. What side of the Tower are you on?"

"East."

"Back up."

Rhodey propelled himself back about six feet, and just in time, too, because about five windows opened up and outwards. He flew through one and landed surprisingly quietly. "I'm in." The windows closed. 

"J.A.R.V.I.S. probably won't talk to you. I asked him not to so he doesn't startle the Soviet Nightmare. I should be there soon. Be careful. This assassin guy once beat up Captain America." Tony said it like a joke, but there was a serious undercurrent to the words that Rhodey didn't like.

"I'm always careful, it's you who's overly reckless," he replied, and then Tony was gone.

As soon as Rhodey entered he saw the man pointing a gun at him. "That won't really do much against me."

"I know, but it makes me feel better," said the man. "I'm not Hydra."

"Why are you pointing a gun at me, then?"

"Because you could be Hydra."

"The windows opened to let me in," Rhodey pointed out.

"And you're wearing Stark tech, I know. But I can't risk making an unassuming mistake. Why are you here?"

Rhodey felt pretty confident that the man wasn't going to shoot him, so he flipped up his mask; a sign of trust. "Tony Stark saw footage of you and two others in his elevator using a private code. He wanted me to come check on you."

"Sam Wilson," the man- Wilson- announced after lowering his gun. "Ex-Air Force."

"Colonel James Rhodes," Rhodey said. "Also Air Force."

"He's a friendly, Barnes," Wilson said next, and that didn't make any sense until another man walked out from the kitchen doorway, putting weapons back in his clothes. Rhodey figured now that both of them seemed fine with his presence he could step out of the suit, so he did, and got a better look at the two guests in Tony's tower. He didn't recognize either of them from anywhere, but the metal arm on "Barnes" caught his attention pretty quickly.

"Tony build you that?" he asked before realizing this was probably the Soviet assassin so the answer would most likely be no.

Barnes glanced at Wilson uncertainly.

"No, he didn't," Wilson answered for him after a second, but it seemed to be more for Barnes's benefit than Rhodey's. 

"Can I see the Cap? To make sure he's okay," Rhodey added when Barnes stiffened. "There's a medical team on the way, too."

"Sure thing. You're a friend of Stark's, so that should be fine." Again, Wilson sounded like this was for Barnes's benefit. His face betrayed no emotion, but his posture screamed distrust.

Rhodey would rather have a friend than an enemy, so he asked Barnes, "Would you like to lead the way to the Captain?" Barnes looked to Wilson again, like he was asking for instruction or permission.

Wilson noticed, but he chose not to do anything. "I'm going to see if they've got any bananas in the kitchen. Maybe I can make breakfast. What time is it, anyway? You know what, that doesn't matter. It's morning somewhere." He walked past Barnes to get into the kitchen. Rhodey saw when Barnes immediately looked at the ground and got all tense when Wilson went to put a hand on his shoulder. Wilson looked sad, but didn't comment. 

A second or two passed. Wilson started humming and there was the sound of a refrigerator door opening. Barnes took that as his cue to stalk off down a hallway, and Rhodey, after a moment of hesitation, followed. They passed several doors before Barnes came to an abrupt halt in front of a nondescript door on their right. Barnes opened it, then gestured for Rhodey to go in.

Captain America lay unconscious on the queen size bed, wearing grey sweatpants and a soft looking pink shirt. His hair seemed ruffled, but other than that he looked good as new, no injuries in sight. The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only sign he was alive. Rhodey might have admired the sight of the Captain more if not for the glare boring into the back of his head from Barnes, who remained close behind him. 

"Thank you," he said politely to Barnes, and then he turned to leave, pretending like he didn't see the look of confusion on the other man's face when given the thanks. He assumed that Barnes was trailing behind him, and he was, until there was the sound of a thud against the wall, and Rhodey turned around to see him leaning on it heavily, like he'd stumbled and used it to catch himself. Rhodey reached out with concern. "You alright?"

Barnes nodded quickly, and he tried to take another step, but he slid down the wall and Rhodey lunged to catch him. His eyes rolled back in his head and suddenly he was dead weight. The left half of his body sagged heavier in Rhodey's arms and his knees nearly buckled. "Wilson!" he yelled. 

"Is it Rogers?" A woman's voice demanded, and suddenly there was a group rounding the corner and entering the hall.

"Who are you?" Rhodey demanded.

"Maria Hill." Hill glanced at him, his arms laden with Barnes, and motioned for her men and women to go past her and take him from Rhodey. "These are medics, let them have him. What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. Rogers seems fine, but-"

"Sam said he was drugged, I know." Hill said as two men started to take Barnes away. A woman came to assist when the left man couldn't hold up Barnes's weight.

"He hasn't woken."

Hill sidestepped out of the way of the people carrying Barnes. "He will."

* * *

  **steve rogers**

He woke up with a scream a breath away from leaving his lips. There was a beeping noise he registered as a heart monitor and then Sam was there, all calming smiles and warm, worried eyes. He breathed, and when he exhaled his breath didn't mist in front of him. It was warm. He wasn't in the ice. 

"Hey, Cap," Sam said. "How are you feeling?"

Steve wasn't sure how to answer that question. He decided to skip it altogether. "Where are we?"

"Stark's place. A couple Hydra agents infiltrated the staff, but it's been taken care of. He has a bathroom the size of my bedroom, Steve." Sam's eyes were a little wild.

Steve grinned, but then he stopped, because he remembered being attacked in that Hydra base, he remembered a doctor injecting him with something, remembered Bucky- masked and dangerous, and then unmasked and unshaved and bleeding out of his nose and asking about Stark- and something clenched in his stomach. "Bucky-"

"Is in another room. He's safe." Sam's smile disappeared, too, but his face was honest, and Steve relaxed slightly. But not completely, because Sam was injured and Steve still hadn't  _seen_  that Bucky was okay yet.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Have a knot on the back of my head and a black eye and various other bruises, but I'm good. I'm a bit more worried about you. I don't know what they drugged you with, but you were out like a light."

"What happened?"

"Your pal Barnes rescued us from a Hydra base and drove us here yesterday. I guessed your password- which was incredibly predictable, by the way, I'm disappointed in you- and got us up here."

"My password?"

"The elevator code to get to the upper floors. All the Avengers have to scan their hands and then put in a password. And yours," Sam raised both eyebrows and looked disappointed, "was buckybarnes, no space, no capital letters. Really? Anybody could guess that."

Steve flushed. "I- I was pressed for time when Stark came to me asking for a password, and I didn't really think I'd have to use it in the near future. Then it just sort of slipped my mind. I'll change it later." At Sam's skeptical look he insisted, "I will!"

"Right. Anyway, it's," Sam looked at his wristwatch, "six PM now. You hungry?"

Steve shook his head. "I want to see him."

"Eat first, and then you can see him."

"But-"

"He hasn't woken up yet, anyway, and you need some food in you."

"Hasn't woken up yet?" Steve repeated sharply. It was six PM, not in the morning. Bucky wasn't still asleep after having gone to bed the night previously.

"He's a bit rough around the edges, but he'll be okay. He'll wake up. He's just not strong enough yet." Sam reassured.

"What happened?"

"How about I tell you over dinner. They have gourmet chefs at our beck and call, Steve." Sam rose from his seat. "It'd be a shame not to let them do their jobs, am I right?"

Ten minutes later the two of them were sitting alone at a large table in a dining room with a red, white, and blue chandelier that dangled over their heads. Steve hated it. 

Someone had set out excessive amounts of food before Sam and Steve had even gotten to the dining room. Steve didn't even try to name all of the different foods set out for them; he just heaped some on his plate and dug in as Sam ate a few grapes and recounted what his capture had been like. Steve felt bad for being relieved that all they'd done to try and get Sam to talk was beat him up. He still wished it hadn't happened, but it could have been so much worse. 

"I was just starting to lose all hope when your boy burst in and killed my interrogator. I thought he was there to kill  _me_  at first, and I tried to reason with him, but he just knelt and undid my restraints. He walked out, and I went after him, trying to get him to go and rescue you. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd already done so, and he was wearing that mask of his so he couldn't talk to me. I guess he couldn't get it off easily, because he didn't take the time to even try. He just pulled a gun on me to get me to stop talking and get a move on."

Steve inhaled sharply. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. Scared the hell out of me, but in hindsight I realize he didn't intend to use it, he just wanted me to get with the program and follow him to get to you. At the time I was justifiably intimidated."

Steve nodded, and stabbed his fork into a hunk of chicken, wondering who put the mask on Bucky. Another thought came to him- maybe Bucky had put it on himself. But why? Steve hoped the answer was to hide his identity. He didn't want to entertain any other ideas.  _Familiarity, routine... He put on a mask that didn't allow him to speak. Hydra had been muzzling him like that for years._

Sam continued, telling more about their getaway. Steve smiled a little when Sam described Bucky jumping out of a window holding him bridal style, but what came after wasn't nearly as pleasant. Bucky's nonchalance about his name, the Hydra spies in Stark Industries, Bucky's collapse in the hallway. 

"Why'd he collapse?" Steve asked.

"Malnutrition and exhaustion are the leading causes. He hadn't slept or eaten in weeks, and the lack of food was especially devastating for him because of the extra energy he needs 'cause of the serum. You know about that; you've got a version of it, too. He wasn't dehydrated, but he'd dropped some pounds. The medics were surprised he lasted this long, and they didn't believe me at first when I said he took out an entire Hydra base by himself. They called it a miracle." Sam held Steve's gaze. "He's getting nutrients through the IV they have him hooked up to, so he's recovering, and he should wake up soon. He had a few cracked ribs, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were completely healed by now. His arm is just about fully healed- the one broken on the helicarrier, not the metal one, which Stark is itching to take a look at, by the way. His broken nose is healed up, too. He's gonna be fine."

Steve hadn't realized there were tears burning his eyes until one had escaped. He brushed it away and sucked in a breath, trying to find something to do other than cry. He settled for asking, "How'd he get a broken nose?"

"I asked him that in the car on the way here. Said he got punched twice, and he said they wouldn't follow us when I asked if they were a danger. I figure whoever it was is dead now."

"I couldn't barely land a hit on him in DC. Who could've gotten close enough to  _break_  his  _nose?"_

"I dunno, Cap. He wasn't exactly at the top of his game, though."

"Was he wearing the mask at the time?"

"I dunno," Sam said again, infinitely patient. "I wasn't there to see it. However, if they did take off his mask before hitting him..."

 Steve went cold. "Do you think it was someone he knew?"

"Could've been." Sam shrugged. There was a long pause as Steve put his utensils down, long ago having lost his appetite. Sam was the first one to break the silence. "Alright, Cap, you held up your end of the bargain, so I'll hold up mine. Lets go see Bucky Barnes." 

* * *

  **the winter soldier**

His eyes aren't open.

He knows that first.

He's lying down  _and it's soft, why is it soft?_  and his eyes aren't open.

He recognizes sounds next, a high pitched beeping and then voices, a male voice, close to his left ear, muttering, "My nostrils are burning. He's filthy and he  _reeks_ , all blood and dirt and maybe sewer, I don't know. Maybe we should get a towel and wipe him down or-"

_("Wipe him and start over.")_

And the Soldier's eyelids open and the beeping gets fast and his strong arm shoots out and grabs the man who spoke by the throat because  _he's not going back to the Chair._

Someone shouts and he hears the clatter of something being knocked over, but he ignores it all and stares into the fear-filled brown eyes of  _"Wipe him and start over"_  and sees the tan skin and the beard and the dark hair, and there's a name at the edge of his mind, and he ignores that, too. The beeping sound is louder and growing more rapid and the man's face is turning blue and then Steve is there, grabbing at his strong arm.

He begs. That's wrong. "Buck, please, you gotta let go, don't do this, Bucky, please. You're safe here."

Someone else- Sam's voice, he recognizes- is saying, "Doctor, I think it's best if we go upstairs," but the Soldier focuses on making his eyes move from the man's fearful gaze to Steve's and he feels something in his stomach twist because Steve's afraid.

The Soldier hasn't moved from where he's laying except for the arm. He swallows. He's not sure if he's capable of moving. "Don't-"  _don't wipe me anymore, I promise I'll be good, don't wipe me, please,_  but he can't get the words out. 

"Don't what, Bucky?" Steve asks, eyes pleading. The beeping is shrill and the man is choking and trying to pry the Soldier's strong fingers from his neck and failing.

"You- you have to tell-" he stops, but not on purpose; his mouth isn't working, his words aren't working, why can't he say that Steve has to tell them? Because he has to say it. Steve has to know to tell them that the Soldier is theirs and doesn't need the Chair to keep him there. He has to tell them that the Soldier will be good and obedient but needs the memories like he needs to breathe and  _he won't go back to the Chair,_  he  _won't_ , but he can't move so what is he going to do if they try to make him?  _Please don't make me go back to the Chair._

"Tell what, Bucky? To who?" Steve asks, but the Soldier's mouth won't work.

The man he is choking is becoming more purple than red.

"Bucky,  _let go_ , you're  _killing_  him," Steve says again, sounding desperate but _authoritative_ , and the Soldier obeys automatically; his fingers unclench and the man gasps for air and coughs and says things like "holy fuck" and "fucking hell" and "holy shit, holy shit, raise the levels of- raise  _something_ , get him sedated," and "where the fuck is Bruce?" and the Soldier wonders why all those things would have holes and who or what "Bruce" is as Steve takes his hand and promises that he won't leave him. He's malfunctioning and his eyelids close, even though he doesn't want them to. He doesn't want his eyes to close. He has to tell Steve he doesn't need the chair. He has to tell Steve he'll be good without it. He has to keep his eyes open, but he can't. 

 

* * *

  **steve rogers**

 Steve held on to Bucky's metal arm for a few minutes more, torn between watching Stark recover and watching Bucky to see if he'd wake up again, but Bucky remained unconscious. Steve let go, noting a slight dent from where he'd clutched it too tightly, and he felt sick.

Stark was rubbing at his bruised throat and swearing. "J.A.R.V.', are Bruce and Wilson okay?" he asked the ceiling.

"Yes, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said, making Steve jump. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the disembodied voice that controlled the Tower. "Dr. Banner controlled himself until he made it to the Hulk-Room and Mr. Wilson has sustained no injuries."

"Good, that's good." Stark rubbed at his throat some more. "Has Bruce changed back yet?"

"No, sir."

"Alright, we'll wait it out. Tell Wilson I'm not dead."

"I already have," said J.A.R.V.I.S., and he almost sounded upset.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmured. "Are you alright?" He couldn't meet Stark's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good." Stark inhaled deeply. "I'd rather not do that again, though. What was he saying to you? I wasn't listening; too busy trying to breathe."

Steve rubbed at his forehead and recalled the words. "At first he just said the word 'don't', and then he wanted me to tell someone something. 'You have to tell,'" he repeated.

Stark frowned.

"What set him off?" Steve asked. "I was kind of...zoned out," he admitted with shame. "I wasn't paying attention until he woke up that abruptly."

"I don't know. I was talking about how bad he smelled and how dirty he is and wanting to wipe him down. Think he was angry?" Stark joked, but a couple words were like knives in Steve's chest.

"Repeat that," he said sharply. "Do you remember your exact words?"

Stark gave him a weird look. "J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

Oh. The artificial intelligence system would know. "Where should I start playing it back, sir?"

"Uh, the part where I was telling everyone my nostrils were burning, I guess." Stark looked to Steve, who nodded.

A recording played back of Stark's voice. "'My nostrils are burning. He's filthy and he  _reeks_ , all blood and dirt and maybe sewer, I don't know. Maybe we should get a towel and wipe him down or get Steve to ba-' Were you going to say the word 'bathe', sir?"

Steve didn't hear Stark's response. A thousand things clicked in his head at once and he felt like crying. His lips twisted up in a miserable smile. "I guess he really doesn't trust me," he said. There was a tremor in his voice.

Stark frowned at Steve's expression. "I feel like I've missed something."

"He probably heard 'wipe him down' and thought we were going to take his memories away. In the file they called it a 'mind wipe' or 'memory wipe'. Then they'd shock him somehow. The picture in the file was from the fifties, so I don't know how they've been doing it more recently, but it looked like they'd strap him into a chair, place a guard in his mouth, apply some sort of gel, place the electrodes in various places on his head, and shock him. They call it electroconvulsive therapy now, right? Or is it electroshock therapy? Anyway, it's like that, but worse." Steve gritted his teeth. When he was younger he'd known a boy whose parents found out that he was a homosexual and sent him away for "treatment". He had come back very different. "Bucky must have thought we were Hydra. Or just as bad as them." Steve huffed out a bitter laugh.

Stark said nothing. Steve knew he was rubbing at his throat.

"We'll be sure to clear that up when he wakes," Stark assured quietly.

The door opened. Barton poked his head in. "The Hulk isn't de-Hulking, Stark. What do I do."

"'The Hulk isn't de-Hulking'? That's it? No, 'Are you okay, Tony?' 'So glad you're alive, Tony.' 'Really good to see that the brainwashed Soviet assassin didn't choke you to death, Tony!' Nothing?! And where's Wilson? He was the one who escorted him out."

"Are you okay, Tony? So glad you're alive, Tony. Really good to see that the brainwashed Soviet assassin didn't choke you to death, Tony." Barton parroted.

Stark flipped him off.

Barton winked, then said, "Falcon's talking to Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes. How do I get Banner to come back?"

"He escaped?!"

"No, I mean how do I make Mr. Green and Angry become Dr. Calm and Very-Not-Wanting-to-Kill-Me."

Steve lost track of the conversation shortly after that and became overwhelmed by his own thoughts, which revolved around Bucky, who lay still in front of him. He barely noticed Barton and Stark's departure. Steve got up and sat back down in the plastic chair on Bucky's other side so he could take Bucky's hand in his and squeeze it. "Everything's gonna be okay, Buck," he promised.

There was no reply. He hadn't really expected one, but he was still almost disappointed. He tried to cheer up. At least Bucky was here, right?

Steve took a shaky breath and forced a smile. "Y'know, it used to be me unconscious in bed and you sitting at my bedside. I'd get sick all the time, I don't know if you remember. It got so bad once or twice that I'd just slide in and out of consciousness for hours, all fevery and in pain. You'd stay with me almost the whole time when that was happening. Ma would try to get you to go home and rest but you'd refuse to leave. One time your snoring was loud enough to wake me up, and I couldn't get back to sleep after that. You were so loud. But I didn't have the heart to wake you. You scolded me for that when you woke up.

"Do you remember my mom? Before we became friends I remember she joked and said you were some kind of screechy little devil 'cause you played so loud out in the streets and your smiles were so charming. After our third time playing together she joked again and said you were still screechy but not so much a devil. I know what you've been forced to do while I was in the ice, at least some of it, anyway, and I know you're not a devil, Buck. I hope you know that, too."

If Steve was more naive he'd think that Bucky would know that none of this shit was his fault, but he wasn't, and he knew that Bucky was going to hate himself and try to "atone" for all the death and destruction he'd been a part of.

"When I was twelve a girl named Katie called me gimpy just before school and you punched her in the mouth. You didn't need to, I was about to do it, but you did anyway. You always went on about treating dames- but they don't call women 'dames' anymore, did you know?- respectfully, but you still punched her. I asked you about it later. You said, 'Anybody that treats you wrong, no matter the gender, ain't deserve my respect, Stevie.' Do you remember being top of the class in your grade? You've always been so smart. You coulda charmed the pants off of most of those teachers, and I'm pretty sure you almost tried when you had that pretty one for maths.

"Remember when we went to Coney Island? And we rode the Cyclone?" 

He was crying quietly by the time he'd started a fourth story, and couldn't keep up a smile by the fifth. He wasn't sure when Barton entered the room again, he only knew that he was talking about a Commandos mission in Italy when a calloused hand came down on his shoulder gently.

"I've come to take the next watch," he murmured. "Didn't want to disturb you, but it's getting late. Or, early. Whichever floats your boat for pre-eight A.M. morning hours."

God. Morning already? 

"I can't leave him," Steve said, just as softly. "I'm afraid that if I take my eyes off him he'll- he'll disappear." Steve took a shaky breath.

"Just get some sleep," Barton said. "You don't have to leave. Just hold his hand and go to sleep."

It took him a little while, but Steve did as Barton said. 

 

* * *

**the winter soldier**  

He wakes up again, and his own eyes lock on brown ones, the very same ones he'd stared down last time he woke. He stiffens, eyes flicking away to assess the situation. He checks for exits, notices the IV, twitches his limbs to see if there are any restraints on him(there aren't). He can feel the man's gaze on him as he does so.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," the man says, and the Soldier only recognizes that this is addressed to him because there is no one else in the room. The man leans back in the chair on the Soldier's right; the opposite side of the bed he'd sat on last time. The Soldier knows he is going to be disciplined for what he has done. He just doesn't know if it will be the Chair. This man has already threatened it, and Steve is not here to stop him (thought the Soldier doesn't know if Steve would stop him even if he was here. He thinks he would, but he can't be sure, he can't be sure). He keeps his eyes focused on the wall to the right of the man.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asks softly, and the Soldier has to look back at him then. He takes in the ease at which he occupies the chair, the crisp suit that's cost probably matched the medical equipment around them, and he thinks of a red car that had the technology to attempt flight and a different car that didn't know how to land.

 "Yes."

"Well, that sure does make things easier for me. Sam Wilson calls you Barnes. Is that okay for me to use, too?" Stark smiles, and the Soldier isn't sure if it's real. 

He doesn't understand why his punishment hasn't begun already, but he says yes again.

"Thanks. Much less of a mouthful than the Winter Soldier, though even that isn't  _terrible_ , I guess." Stark tapped his heel on the floor for a second before launching into a whole new topic. "Captain Spangles is in the bathroom, if you're wondering why he's finally left your bedside. You aren't doing so well, but you're getting better, though you'll need to stay here until you get even betterer. That's not a word. Anyway, once your nutrition levels are stabilized and some other things happen, you can leave or stay, whatever you want. But until then we need to establish some ground rules." Stark pulled out a tablet and tapped at a few things on the screen that the Soldier couldn't see from his vantage point. "The first one: Don't leave the Tower without alerting somebody. Sorry about that, by the way, we're not trying to imprison you or anything, but it's really not safe for you to go at this point. Hydra aside, you could still be recognized by the press, and that means a court case, and that means a whole world of trouble. Rule two: My lab is pretty much off limits. I might take you down there a little later just so you know where you're not supposed to go, if that makes any sense. Rule three- well, here." He hands the Soldier the tablet.

There's a picture from the shoulders up of a woman in her mid thirties. The name listed is Virginia "Pepper" Potts. Straight auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, white blazer, red lipstick, white face, some freckles, green eyes. A mission. Rule three is to complete missions, the Soldier realizes. The name is familiar. He remembers that Sam mentioned that she is the CEO of Stark Industries. If Stark Industries is as important as Sam had said it was, then as CEO she might be hard to get close to. If Stark is assigning him the mission, however, there might be some blind eyes turned by guards and possible assistance. 

"This is Pepper Potts," Stark says unnecessarily. 

The target has been named by the handler. The Soldier waits for the timetable, waits for the mission, waits for the order to be given.

Stark leans in and says in the most serious voice he's used this whole time, "I want you to stay away from her."

The Soldier's expression flickers from blank to confused and then back to blank again. The mission is to  _avoid_  the target?

Stark plunges on. "You hear her coming, you get out of the way." He pressed play on a recording of her voice, one in which she's telling someone- an employee, most likely- to clear Stark's schedule for the afternoon. "You hear her voice, you high tail it out of there. She walks into a room, you walk out of it. You will not hurt her in any way, not intentionally, not accidentally. Is that clear?"

The Soldier nods sharply.

_Mission objective: Avoid Pepper Potts. Status: Active, indefinite_

He frowns. 

_Mission objective: Save Steve and Sam. Status: ?_

Stark notices. "What's up?" 

Before he can ask about Steve and Sam, the door opens, and in steps Steve, alive and awake. He's too tall, but he's just as big as when the Soldier carried him out of the Hydra base, and he's just as big as when he attacked the Soldier on the helicarrier.  

"Thanks for waiting, Stark, I-" Steve freezes, eyes locking on the Soldier. A choked noise comes from his throat, but there shouldn't be anything blocking his windpipes. 

"I'll leave you guys to it," says Stark, rising and taking the tablet from the Soldier. He claps Steve's shoulder on the way out, using the same gesture Sam had used on his way to the kitchen when the man in the metal suit had come to the tower. 

"Hey, Bucky," Steve says softly. His footsteps are soft, too, as he approaches and sits in the chair Stark had been sitting in. "How're you feeling?"

The Soldier isn't certain how to answer that. He opens his mouth slightly and closes it again when nothing comes to mind. After a second more he knows he needs to say  _something_  to get that look off Steve's face, and he goes with, "I am functional."

That just makes his expression worse. The Soldier didn't say the right thing. He quickly looks away, waiting to be reprimanded.

"It's okay," Steve says, and the Soldier hears the hurt in his voice, but he doesn't know how to fix it. Why was he in pain? "You're safe now. It's going to be okay." Steve swallows. "We're in a friend of mine's tower; Stark Tower, where you brought us."

Safe. Stark Tower is safe, and he'd brought Steve here.

"Sam?" He asks, looking back up, searching in Steve's face to see if he'd failed that part of the mission. He'd brought Sam here, but what had happened after that? Is Sam still safe, or had something happened while the Soldier's eyes were shut?

"He's here, too," Steve says.

_Mission objective: Save Steve and Sam. Status: Complete._

There is more silence. The Soldier isn't certain if he's allowed to speak, and even if he is he wouldn't know what to say. He keeps his eyes down. 

"You know, I must've planned out what to say when I saw you again a thousand times," Steve murmurs, huffing out a laugh, "but I can't remember a bit of it."

Another empty pause. 

"We would've helped you, Buck," Steve whispers. 

The Soldier isn't sure how to respond to that, but fear fills him. Is Steve upset? He's sounded upset since he saw the Soldier, but it's not the sort of upset he's used to. Is the Soldier in trouble? Would've helped. Would've. Would have. Won't now? 

"You didn't have to starve. You could've come to us when you were hungry. You wouldn't have been in trouble or anything. Even if you didn't want to come to us, I wouldn't have blamed you for stealing food. I just-" Steve shudders. "I want to know why."

"....Why?" The Soldier doesn't know what Steve's asking. He kept using words that the Soldier doesn't recognize.

"Why you weren't eating."

Another word he doesn't know. 

Should he say so? He usually doesn't get in trouble for not knowing words, but Steve isn't like any of his previous handlers. 

He doesn't have anything better to say, though.

"I don't know that word." 

Steve's face keeps twisting into expressions he doesn't recognize. They make him anxious. "What word?" he asks cautiously. 

"Eating."

Steve is even more upset, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (all Russian is provided to me by google translate and is therefore probably inaccurate)  
> быстро - quickly  
> вовремя - on time  
> двойной агент - double agent  
> цель миссии: проникнуть в башню - purpose of the mission: infiltrate the tower  
> зима - winter  
> кто является другой человек? - who is the other person?  
> приманка - bait


End file.
